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HE  WAS  SITTING  ON  THE  STEPS  OF  THE  UNOPENED  STORE 
(Page  7) 


A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 


BY 


WILL  ALLEN  DROMGOOLE 

Author  of  "The  Heart  of  Old  Hickory,"  "The  Valley  Path/ 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  F.  A.  CARTER 


THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA  MCMII 


COPYRIGHT  1898  BY  THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGK 

I  THE  SETTLEMENT  STORE 7 

II  A  SIGNAL  AND  A  WARNING 22 

III  IT  WAS  GRIM  WHO  TOLD 66 

IV  A  RAID 85 

V  THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME 104 

VI  BEHIND  THE  RAINBOW  FALLS       128 

VII  THE  BEST  OF  FRIENDS  MUST  PART 142 

VIII  SYLVIA     164 

IX  THE  BELATED  OLD  STAGE  COACH 178 

X  UNDER  THE  DOORSTEP 190 

XI  CONFESSIONS 206 

XII  AMONG  NEW  SCENES 222 

XIII  FIRST  LESSONS 246 

XIV  THE  WONDERFUL  SHOPS 261 

XV  PROGRESS— CHANGES 286 

XVI  AFTER  MANY  DAYS ,320 


2061736 


A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 


CHAPTER  I 


No  man  on  the  mountain  was  more  respected 
than  old  Jube  Jarvis,  the  settlement  storekeeper. 
But  to  no  one  was  he  quite  such  a  hero  as  to 
the  boy  sitting  on  the  step  of  the  unopened 
store,  in  the  dawn  of  a  crisp  September  morn- 
ing, waiting  for  the  owner  of  the  establishment 
to  come  from  the  house  across  the  road  and 
"  open  up." 

He  was  a  young  fellow  of  not  more  than 
twelve  or  fourteen  years  perhaps,  yet  there  was 
an  old  look  in  his  face  that  told  of  troubles  that 
never  should  have  knocked  at  the  door  of  youth. 
The  old-young  face  was  crowned  by  a  mass  of 
reddish-brown  hair  that  showed  a  golden  tinge 

7 


8  A  MOONSHINER'S,  SON 

when  the  sun  fell  full  upon  it;  as  though 
nature,  of  her  kindness,  would  have  poured 
some  of  her  own  good  warmth  into  his  chilled 
little  body. 

There  was  an  uncovered  porch  before  the 
door,  and  a  long  step  that  led  down  into  the 
public  road.  The  boy  was  seated  upon  the  step, 
face  in  his  palms,  elbows  upon  his  knees,  lost  in 
thought. 

Before  him,  contentedly  cropping  the  crisping 
blades  of  grass,  stood  a  gray  mule  without  sad- 
dle or  blanket,  her  bridle-rein  lying  lightly 
across  the  knee  of  her  young  rider.  Now 
and  then  the  boy  put  out  his  hand  and  stroked 
the  short,  glossy  neck  of  the  animal,  at  which 
she  would  leave  off  grazing  for  a  moment  to 
rub  her  nose  affectionately  against  the  well- 
patched  knees  of  her  master.  Evidently  mule 
and  master  were  on  the  best  of  terms. 

Sometimes,  too,  the  boy  would  rouse  up  from 
his  dreamings  and  call  out  sharply :  "  Whoa 
thar,  Kit." 

And  then  the  mule  would  regard  him  in  a  kind 


THE    SETTLEMENT    STORE  9 

of  mild  wonder,  us  though  she   said :     "  How 
could  you  think  I  would  do  such  a  thing  ?" 

And  it  was  a  little  singular  that  he  should 
have  suspected  old  Kit  would  be  guilty  of  slip- 
ping off  home  and  leaving  her  master  to  tramp 
it  back  to  the  cabin  on  the  bluff,  more  than 
two  miles  distant. 

Of  a  truth,  the  boy  was  not  thinking  of  the 
mule  at  all,  but  of  the  storekeeper  across  the 
way.  He  was  wondering  how  long  it  would  be 
before  he  would  "  open  up  "  the  store. 

And  he  was  telling  himself  that  he  was  "  a 
great  dunce  for  coinin'  thar  afore  day  was  fairly 
broke  anyhow."  And  then  he  "  allowed  granny 
would  be  in  and  about  done  with  her  breakfast 
'g'inst  he  could  get  back  home."  And  while  he 
was  thinking  thus  the  storekeeper  chanced  to 
look  out  of  his  window  and  see  the  forlorn- 
looking  boy  sitting  there  in  the  gray  mists  of 
the  morning  with  the  leaves  of  the  big  maple 
tree  drifting  down  upon  him  like  lumps  of  yel- 
low gold,  and  what  he  said  was :  "  Well,  if 
thar  ain't  Joe  Bentley !"  A  moment  later  he 


10  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

stepped  across  the  road  and  saluted  his  early 
customer. 

"  Mornin',  Joe." 

Joe  bounded  to  his  feet  as  though  Ihe  voice  of 
the  storekeeper  had  sent  nev  life  surging 
through  his  frame. 

"Mornin',  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said  he.  "I  hope 
now  I  didn't  wake  you  up,  Mr.  Jarvis." 

The  storekeeper  thrust  his  iron  key  into  the 
lock. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  had  one  eye  open,  so  to 
speak.  Folks  all  well,  Joe?" 

"  Same  as  common,  thank'e,  sir,"  said  Joe. 
"  I  reckon  now  I'm  here  toler'bly  early,  Mr. 
Jarvis,  an'  I  ought  to  tell  you  why." 

"  Better  hitch  your  mule  first,  Joe,"  said  the 
merchant,  with  a  sharp  glance  at  the  little  old- 
young  face  that  was  telling  him  all  too  plainly 
that  Joe  was  carrying  an  uncomfortable  secret, 
and  uncomfortable  secrets  were  strictly  forbid- 
den at  Jube  Jarvis's  establishment.  The  old 
man  kept  a  sharp  watch  on  the  boy  while  he 
twisted  his  lines  into  the  low,  drooping  branches 


THE    SETTLEMENT    STORE  11 

of  the  maple.  There  was  that  about  Joe  Bent- 
ley  that  had  always  appealed  to  childless  Jube 
Jarvis.  There  was  something  in  the  boy,  strong 
and  staunch  and  true,  that  refused  to  yield  itself 
to  the  unpromising  surroundings  among  which 
fate  had  placed  him.  But  could  the  old  man 
have  seen  the  broad  black  bruises  laid  upon  the 
young  shoulders  under  the  coarse  shirt  which 
granny  had  darned  and  patched  and  spent 
many  an  hour  trying  to  make  look  neat,  the  big 
heart  of  him  would  indeed  have  felt  for  ill-used 
Joe  Bentley. 

"  Got  no  mammy,  and  worse  than  no  pappy," 
grumbled  the  storekeeper,  as  he  turned  into  the 
store,  where  Joe  soon  followed  him. 

"  Well,  son,"  said  Mr.  Jarvis,  "  something 
onusual  must  a-happened  to  fetch  you  out  o' 
bed  when  other  chaps  the  size  o'  you-uns  air 
fairly  knocking  it  off  in  sleep.  What  can  I  do 
for  you,  Joe  ?" 

Joe  leaned  his  patched  elbow  upon  the  coun- 
ter and  hesitated  :  how  like  begging  his  errand 
appeared  now,  after  he  had  ridden  so  fast  and 


12  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

come  so  far  to  get  it  done.  The  merchant 
marked  his  hesitancy  and  said,  encouragingly : 

"  Come,  come  now;  I  reckiii  it  ain't  anything 
to  be  so  mightily  ashamed  on  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Joe.  "  It  ain't  anything 
to  be  ashamed  on,  I  reckin.  I  have  come 
over  here  to  git  one  pound  o'  coffee  for 
granny — " 

The  storekeeper  dropped  his  right  arm  into 
the  coffee  barrel. 

"  Hold  on  thar,  Mr.  Jar  vis,"  said  Joe,  "  I 
allers  aims  to  be  forehanded  an'  honest,  an'  I'm 
obliged  to  tell  you  I  ain't  got  any  money  to  pay 
for  it," 

"  Psher,"  remarked  the  merchant.  "  I  reckin 
I  ain't  grown  so  close-fisted  as  I  can't  spare  a 
pound  o'  coffee  to  an  old  woman  like  your 
granny.  For  I  know  mighty  well  it  ain't  for 
yourse'f  you're  wanting  of  it." 

"  No,  sir,"  remarked  Joe,  "  it's  for  granny. 
She  don't  appear  to  git  on  well  without  her  cup 
o'  mornin's.  But  she  don't  know  I  come  for  it, 
else  she  wouldn't  a-let  me.  I  slipped  off.  'Pears 


THE   SETTLEMENT   RTOKE  13 

like  I  jest  couldn't  see  her  suffrin  for  her  cup — " 
He  stopped  and  his  eyes  filled. 

"  Psher,"  said  the  merchant,  "  what's  a  pound 
of  coffee  more  or  less.  Hand  me  that  thar 
scoop  out  o'  the  shot  kaig,  son." 

But  Joe  shook  his  head : 

"  I  couldn't  take  it  that  way,"  said  he. 
"  Granny'd  send  me  straight  back  if  I  did. 
She'd  allow  it  ware  no  more'n  beggin'.  An'  she 
allows  nobody  has  got  the  right  to  be  a  beggar 
who  has  got  the  strength  to  work.  She 
allows  that  thar  be  a  sort  of  fairness  even  in 
beggin',  granny  does.  Besides,  I  aimed  to  give 
her  the  coffee,  and  I  allowed  may  be  you-uns 
would  let  me  work  it  out.  I  could  come  straight 
back,  soon's  I  fetched  the  coffee  home  for  granny's 
breakfast.  An''  I'll  work  it  out  full  and  fair ; 
'deed  I  will,  Mr.  Jarvis." 

The  storekeeper  stooped  down  and  began  scoop- 
ing up  the  coffee  :  he  did  not  measure  it :  there 
was  no  need  to  let  the  boy  know  that  his  order 
had  been  more  than  doubled.  He  would  get  full 
pay  in  work :  he  had  tried  Joe  Bentley  before. 


14  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Whar'd  you  been,  Joe,"  he  asked  while 
wrapping  the  coffee  in  a  sheet  of  brown  paper. 
"  Whar'd  you  been  so  early  of  a  mornin'  on  old 
Kit?"  Joe  dropped  his  head  and  was  silent ;  he 
stood  before  his  one  friend  the  unmistakable 
image  of  guilty  shame. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Jarvis,  "  you  needn't 
tell  unless  you  air  so  minded,  but  let  us  hope  it 
ware  a  healthy,  lawful  business  you  ware  out 
upon.  These  air  mighty  rough  times,  Joe,  an' 
a  body's  got  to  be  watchful  an'  wary." 

Joe  lifted  his  head  and  looked  the  store- 
keeper squarely  in  the  eye.  He  knew  the  old 
man  allowed  nobody  to  tell  unlawful  secrets  in 
his  house,  and  Joe  half  expected  he  might  be 
kicked  out,  as  he  had  seen  big  men  kicked 
many  a  time,  for  attempting  to  make  a  confi- 
dent of  old  Jube.  Still,  he  meant  to  make  an 
explanation. 

"  It  ware  not  lawful,"  said  he.  "  It  ware 
wicked  an'  unlawful  work,  an'  I  knew  it  all  the 
time.  I  ware  holpin'  to  break  the  law.  I  tell 
you  fair,  Mr.  Jarvis.  I  went — afore  I  came 


THE   SETTLEMENT   STORE  15 

over  here — I  went  afore  day,  long  afore  day,  to 
fetch  a  load — " 

"  Sh— h." 

A  shadow  darkened  the  doorway,  the  shadow 
of  a  strange  horse  and  rider.  A  man  from  one 
of  the  valley  towns  below,  judging  from  his 
dress  and  appearance,  had  ridden  up  to  the 
step  and  drawn  rein.  The  storekeeper  leaned 
across  the  counter  and  touched  Joe's  arm. 

"  Not  a  word  more,"  said  he,  softly.  "  I 
don't  want  to  hear  a  word  about  it.  You  can't 
allers  tell  what's  a-goin'  to  happen,  an'  if  any- 
body comes  here  inquirin'  o'  me  consarnin'  the 
rascality  o'  the  kentry  I  ain't  obligated  to  lie 
for  nobody,  an'  I  won't  be.  Now  do  you-uns 
run  'long  home,  an'  take  the  nigh  cut  through 
the  woods,  an'  don't  you  be  a-talkin'  too  much, 
nuther." 

He  saw  the  gray  mule  trot  off  with  her  young 
rider  before  he  returned  to  respond  to  the 
stranger's  good  morning. 

"  Mornin',  stranger,"  said  Jube,  after  which 
he  went  behind  the  counter  and  in  his  best 


16  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

business  manner  said  to  the  man  who  had  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  store : 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  stranger  ?" 

"Why,"  laughed  the  visitor,  "I  think 
you  can  do  a  great  deal.  You  see,  my  good 
friend—" 

"  My  name  be  Jarvis,"  said  the  merchant. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Jarvis,  I  am  on  the  track  of  a 
great  rascal." 

The  merchant  waved  his  hand,  as  though  to 
take  in  the  entire  premises.  "  S'arch,"  said  he. 
"  I  ain't  concealin'  nobody  as  air  wanted,  an'  I 
ain't  consortin'  with  rascals,  as  I  knows  on. 
S'arch  the  place  if  you're  minded,  stranger." 

The  strange  man  laughed  again,  lightly. 
"  Oh,  I'm  not  suspecting  you,"  said  he.  As  he 
spoke  he  threw  back  his  coat ;  there  was  not  a 
weapon  in  sight.  The  merchant  noticed  this, 
as  the  visitor  intended  he  should.  Revenue 
officers,  as  a  general  thing,  came  armed  to  the 
teeth,  and  under  cover  of  darkness.  Evidently 
this  was  not  an  officer,  else  he  was  one  who  had 
determined  to  avoid  all  the  old  subterfuges  of 


THE   SETTLEMENT    STORE  1? 

his  predecessors.  Or  else,  Jube  thought,  he 
must  be  a  very  ignorant  young  fellow  to  so  dar- 
ingly take  his  life  in  his  own  hands. 

"  I  am  not  suspecting  you.  And,  really,  I 
am  not  exactly  out  upon  a  search  to-day ;  but 
I  saw  that  boy  come  out  of  here — " 

The  storekeeper  held  his  breath ;  had  Joe 
really  got  into  some  trouble,  he  wondered.  He 
supposed  the  boy  had  merely  wished  to  talk 
about  his  father,  when  he  shut  him  up  so  un- 
ceremoniously. He  didn't  care  to  have  Lige 
Bentley's  illicit  distilling  thrust  upon  his  con- 
fidence. True,  he  had  suspicions,  had  had  them 
all  along ;  but  suspicions  were  not  facts.  If 
Joe  was  in  trouble,  why,  he  was  ready  to  help 
him  if  he  could,  though  he  was  not  ready  to 
lie  for  him.  He  held  that  a  man's  first  obliga- 
tion is  to  his  own  honor,  and  that  no  man's 
safety  should  be  purchased  at  the  expense  of 
one's  own  integrity.  How  he  did  hope  that 
this  man  would  ask  no  compromising  questions. 

"  Do   you   know   that   boy  ?"  was    the   first 
question  put. 
2 


18  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Mighty  well ;  knowed  him  nigh  all  his  life ; 
handy  a  chap  as  you  ever  see." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  stranger.  "  That  is, 
I  thought  he  looked  so.  And  that  is  what  made 
me  suspect — " 

The  merchant  drew  in  his  breath  sharply  and 
waited  to  hear  more,  the  heart  in  his  bosom  beat- 
ing like  a  trip-hammer  until  the  stranger  said : 

"  Now,  do  you  think  I  could  hire  this  boy  for 
a  day?" 

"  Hire  him  ?  That  you  couldn't ;  he's  hired 
to  me ;  he's  got  to  keep  store." 

"  Oh,  and  why  didn't  you  say  so  at  the  first  ?" 

"  Why  didn't  you  ax  me  ?  I  answered  you 
ever  time  you've  put  a  question,  an'  answered 
you  truthful,  stranger." 

The  man  withdrew  without  another  word  ;  he 
flung  himself  into  the  saddle  and  gave  the  reins 
a  jerk  that  sent  his  big  bay  spinning  out  into 
the  road.  Suddenly  he  whirled,  and  called  to 
the  old  man  standing  in  the  doorway  : 

"  See  here,  my  friend,  I  guess  you'd  best  not 
mention  my  having  been  here." 


THE   SETTLEMENT   STORE  19 

"All  right,  I  won't,  onless  some  one  should  ax 
me.  If  they  ax  they  git  the  truth,  let  'em  hail 
from  whar  they  will,"  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
the  storekeeper  returned  to  his  boxes  and  barrels. 

But  he  was  ill  at  ease ;  something,  he  felt,  was 
afoot;  trouble  was  brewing  for  somebody,  and 
he  felt  a  vague  fear  that  somehow  Joe  was  not 
to  escape. 

For  a  long  time  the  country  around  had  been 
infested  with  illicit  distillers ;  now  and  then 
during  later  years  there  had  been  a  raid,  more 
or  less  successful ;  but  for  the  most  part  the 
"  wildcatters,"  as  they  were  called,  or  "  moon- 
shiners," were  too  wary,  and  too  well  shielded, 
by  the  inaccessible  cliffs,  to  feel  any  great  alarm 
for  their  safety.  But  very  lately  matters  were 
not  moving  so  easily  for  the  lawbreakers.  Jube 
Jarvis  had  no  sympathy  with  the  illicit  trade ; 
he  kept  well  out  of  it,  and  out  of  its  secret 
hiding  places.  The  "  Revernuers "  were  wel- 
come to  come  and  go,  to  destroy  or  to  pass  by  ; 
it  was  nothing,  personally,  to  old  Jube.  But 
this  boy,  Joe  Beutley,  was  a  great  deal  to  Jube ; 


20  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

if  danger  threatened  Joe,  however  remotely,  he 
wanted  to  know  it. 

He  thought  a  good  deal  about  it  after  the 
strange  man  left  the  store  ;  why  had  he  picked 
out  Joe  for  his  service  ?  And  how  was  it  that 
he  had  chanced  to  come  to  the  store  at  the  same 
time,  and  such  an  unusual  time,  that  Joe  had 
come  ?  Might  he  not  have  been  following  him, 
spying  upon  him,  all  the  morning?  And  Joe 
had  admitted  that  he  had  been  upon  an  unlaw- 
ful errand.  The  merchant  had  grave  fears. 

"  It  jest  won't  do,"  said  he  :  "  Joe  ain't  had 
any  manner  o'  showin'  in  this  world.  Though 
I  aint  sayiu'  but  what  he's  got  a  good,  smart 
old  grau'mother  that  aims  to  do  right  by 
him.  But  he's  young  an'  onwary.  If  that  thar 
saft-speakin'  youngster  should  overtake  Joe  on 
the  road,  he  would,  like  as  not  up  an'  confide  to 
him  ever  thing  he  knows,  an'  git  hisse'f  into  no 
end  o'  trouble,  may  be.  I'm  good  mind  to  close 
up  an'  go  after  him." 

Then  he  remembered  that  he  had  cautioned 
Joe  to  keep  the  trail,  or  "  nigh  cut,"  through 


THE   SETTLEMENT    STORE  21 

the  woods.  This  trail,  both  narrow  and  steep, 
had  been  made  by  the  adventurous  cattle  herders 
on  Hickorynut  mountain,  who  were  wont  to  come 
across  to  the  settlement  Saturday  afternoons  for 
supplies.  It  shortened  the  distance  to  Lige  Bent- 
ley's  cabin  by  more  than  a  mile ;  and  sure-footed 
old  Kit  was  not  afraid  of  its  steeps  arid  windings. 

"If  Joe  keeps  to  the  trail  he'll  be  safe  enough," 
said  the  merchant ;  "  an'  'gainst  he  strikes  the 
big  road  on  the  way  back  thar'll  be  too  many  o' 
the  mount'n  boys  round  to  make  it  healthy  for 
strangers  wearin'  store  clothes,  I  reckin." 

At  that  moment  there  came  to  him  the  sound 
of  a  horn  ;  a  soft  blast,  blown  from  the  doorway 
of  the  house  across  the  road ;  he  knew  that  it 
meant  his  breakfast  was  ready. 

He  went  out,  drawing  the  door  after  him,  and 
stood  a  moment  watching  the  long,  yellow  road 
from  the  settlement.  Another  blast  from  the 
horn  reminded  him  that  his  cakes  were  cooling. 
Still  he  lingered,  watching  for  Joe.  But  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  save  that  straight,  broad 
line  of  yellow  sand  gleaming  in  the  sunlight. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  SIGNAL  AND  A  WARNING 

THERE  was  to  be  a  gander-pulling  in  the 
neighborhood  that  day,  and  the  storekeeper 
knew  that  all  the  people  for  miles  around  would 
be  on  hand  to  see  the  fun.  The  boys  from 
down  on  Brushy  Creek,  to  say  nothing  of  those 
over  on  Pine  Knot  mountain,  would  turn  out  in 
full  force ;  for  fun  was  scarce,  and  to  the 
mountaineers  there  are  few  things  so  diverting 
as  a  gander-pulling. 

The  storekeeper  had  reckoned  upon  the  crowd 
that  would  visit  the  store  that  morning,  and  was 
not  sorry  that  he  was  to  have  Joe's  assistance. 
For  although  the  entertainment  was  not  to  come 
off  until  afternoon,  the  crowd  would  come  early 
in  the  morning,  bringing  their  dinners  and 
making  an  all-day  trip  of  it.  The  forenoon,  for 
the  most  part,  would  be  spent  at  the  store ;  not 
22 


A    SIGNAL   AND    A  WARNING  23 

so  much  in  trading  as  in  friendly  gossip, 
though  the  women,  to  be  sure,  would  bring 
their  dried  fruit  and  "  spun  truck "  along  to 
barter  with  old  Jube  for  sugar  and  coffee  and 
molasses. 

The  merchant  gave  a  sigh  of  genuine  relief  as 
he  approached  the  store  and  saw  through  the 
open  door,  Joe's  cheery  face  beaming  above  the 
counter.  The  place  had  been  carefully  swept, 
and  already  there  were  two  visitors  occupying 
the  shuck-bottomed  chairs  set  convenient  for 
customers  just  without  the  door. 

"  I  would  have  come  over  an'  told  you,  Mr. 
Jarvis,"  said  Joe ;  "  but  they-uns  allowed  they'd 
only  come  to  set  a  spell,  an'  not  to  trade ;  an' 
so  I  didn't  see  no  call  for  startin'  of  you  up  from 
your  breakfast.  I  allowed  as  may  be  I  could 
wait  on  sech  as  come  before  you  got  back.  But 
thar  ain't  been  a  blessed  soul  exceptin'  of  Mr. 
Long  out  thar  an'  Jem." 

Jube  recognized  the  early  visitors  as  a  man 
and  his  son,  said  to  be  in  league  with  a  certain 
distiller  by  the  name  of  Dawson,  who  was  sup- 


24  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

posed  to  be  operating  a  still  some  miles  away 
among  the  hills.  He  had  scarcely  time  to 
more  than  say  good-morning,  however,  before 
others  began  to  come  in,  some  to  gossip,  some 
to  trade,  and  ere  long  the  little  store  was 
crowded. 

Among  the  very  first  to  arrive  was  an  old 
woman  by  the  name  of  Martin,  Polly  Martin, 
known  throughout  the  neighborhood  for  the 
sharpness  of  her  tongue,  as  well  as  of  her  wits. 
She  came  up,  panting  and  blowing  from  her 
long  tramp,  plumped  an  open-mouthed  jar 
down  on  the  step,  nodded  to  the  assembled 
neighbors  and  went  into  the  store,  carrying  a 
roll  of  yellow  yarn,  some  home-knit  socks,  and 
a  bag  of  dried  fruit,  which  she  had  brought  to 
barter  for  certain  necessary  articles,  after  the 
custom  of  the  mountaineers.  She  entered  with 
a  brusque,  business-like  air,  and  a  semblance  of 
extreme  good  humor ;  but  the  practiced  eye  of 
the  storekeeper  saw  the  anxiety  .underlying 
the  make-believe  lightness. 

"  Mornin',  folkses  !  moniin',  Jube  !"  was  her 


A    SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  25 

greeting.  "  Got  any  time  to  fritter  away  on  a 
ole  woman  like  me,  Jube?  Then  stir  your 
stumps,  man,  an'  let  me  get  along  back  home. 
The  men  folkses  at  my  place  air  plumb  set  on 
goin'  to  the  gander-pullin'  this  evenin',  an'  I'm 
obleeged  to  git  back  an'  stay  long  o'  the  chillen, 
an'  the  house,  so  as  they-uns  can  go.  It  won't  do 
to  disapp'int  the  men  folkses,  I  tell  you  ;  the  men 
folkses  an'  the  gander.  Why,  I  a'most  mis- 
doubts that  thar  gander  could  get  its  own  con- 
sent to  have  its  neck  pulled  without  the  men 
from  my  place.  'Pears  like  the  gander  would 
sort  o'  know  it  would  be  a  disapp'intin'  occa- 
sion. Want  some  socks  to-clav,  Jube  ?  I'm 

«/  * 

plumb  set  on  havin'  some  sorghum  for  the 
chillen.  We-uns  ain't  got  a  drap.  The  last  I 
got  ware  not  good.  I  trornped  five  mile  an' 
better  to  git  it ;  over  to  Yarbrough's.  An' 
Yarbrough  don't  measure  fair,  nuther.  .  So 
this  mornin'  I  says  to  the  chillen,  says  I, 
*  Jube  Jarvis  gives  fair  measure,  an'  I  be  goin' 
over  to  trade  with  Jube.  An'  here  I  be.' ' 
The  storekeeper  grunted,  as  he  proceeded  to 


26  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

unwrap  the  bundle  of  yarn.  "  Since  you  ware 
so  set  on  tradin'  along  o'  me,"  said  he,  "  whyn't 
you  fetch  them  thar  eggs  here  las'  Christmas, 
as  you  promised  to  do  ?" 

"  Laws-a-massy,  Jube,  ain't  you-uns  forgot 
them  eggs  yit?  Why,  they'd  a  been  e't  up 
long  ago,  or  else  sp'iled.  What  diffe'nce  can  it 
make  this  late  day  ?" 

"  It  makes  the  diffe'uce  of  a  promise,"  said 
Jube.  "  I  allers  keep  my  word  to  folkses,  an'  I 
look  to  others  to  keep  thar  word  to  me.  What 
air  you  wantin'  for  this  truck,  Mis'  Martin  ?" 

"Some  sorghum,  Jube.  Thar's  the  jar  for  it 
outside  the  door.  I  ware  that  fagged  out  I 
couldn't  fetch  it  another  step.  I  want  some  sor- 
ghum an*  a  mite  o'  coffee.  Then  I  want  a  slip 
o'  bacon  for  the  apples.  An'  I  allowed  as  may 
be  you-uns'd  fling  in  a  box  o'  snuff.  I  ain't 
had  a  good  dip  since  I  traded  for  that  thar  box 
last  summer.  Do  you  rickerlect,  Jube  ?" 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  throw  in  a  blessed  thing," 
declared  the  storekeeper.  "  I  aims  to  be  fair, 
an'  may  be  generous,  with  my  own  customers, 


A    SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  27 

but  I  ain't  obligated  to  make  presents  to  Jim 
Yarbrough's  customers.  You-uns  can  go  over 
thar  fur  snuff.  I'll  fill  the  jar  an'  let  you 
have  the  meat,  but  I  ain't  thro  win'  in  no 
extrys." 

It  was  a  small  thing,  merely  an  incident  in 
the  day's  happenings.  There  was  a  touch  of 
surliness  about  it,  too,  that  appealed  to  the  mer- 
chant's sense  of  fairness,  making  him  half 
regret  what  he  had  done  when  he  saw  the  old 
woman  start  on  her  long  tramp  to  the  desolate 
cabin  among  the  crags.  In  winter,  when  the 
trees  were  stripped  of  their  foliage,  he  could  see 
the  brown  cabin  perched  upon  the  steep  bluffs,  in 
the  rear  of  the  store,  like  a  great  ungainly 
vulture  ready  to  swoop  down  upon  the  un: 
suspecting  little  settlement.  It  was  scarcely  a 
half-mile  distant  straight  up  the  bluffs,  but  the 
crags  were  bold  and  steep,  and  the  three-mile 
tramp  by  the  public  road  was  less  fatiguing  than 
any  attempt  to  scale  those  almost  inaccessible 
heights. 

The  storekeeper  felt  himself  a  brute  to  refuse 


28  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

the  snuff;  it  would  have  made  a  welcome  com- 
panion on  that  long,  tiresome  trip.  He  hadn't 
a  doubt  but  that  was  what  had  brought  her  to 
the  store ;  and  he  had  a  suspicion  that  she  had 
stolen  away  to  the  settlement  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  her  husband,  for  she  generally  did 
her  trading  at  a  distant  settlement  on  the  other 
side  of  the  bluff,  with  a  merchant  by  the  name 
of  Yarbrough.  Yarbrough  was  close  and  grasp- 
ing, and  Jube  knew  that  it  was  old  Martin  who 
made  his  wife  do  her  trading  there  ;  he  and  Jube 
had  quarreled  some  time  since,  and  after  that  old 
Mrs.  Martin  never  came  to  the  settlement  except 
on  such  occasions  as  she  could  "  slip  off,"  un- 
known to  the  old  man.  She  had  relied  upon 
Jube's  generosity  to  throw  in  the  snuff.  Jube 
was  disgusted  with  himself;  he  thought  once  of 
sending  Joe  to  run  and  overtake  her  with  the 
box,  but  some  one  came  in  and  it  slipped  his 
mind. 

A  little  thing,  merely  a  box  of  disgusting, 
yellow  snuff;  yet,  could  he  have  foreseen  the  part 
it  was  to  play  in  the  day's  proceedings  he  would 


A   SIGNAL   AND   A  WAKNING  29 

indeed  have  felt,  as  lie  said,  "  that  you  can't 
allers  tell  whar  a  little,  small  act  will  end." 

The  new  arrival  who  distracted  the  store- 
keeper's attention  from  the  episode  of  the  snuff 
was  a  young  man,  who,  at  a  glance,  the  mer- 
chant supposed  to  be  a  stranger.  But  a  second 
look  convinced  him  there  was  something  odd, 
and  not  altogether  unfamiliar,  in  the  man's 
appearance.  The  mass  of  yellow  hair  that 
crowned  his  rather  shapely  head  didn't  appear 
to  have  just  a  natural  set ;  and  the  hands, 
though  dark,  were  too  small  to  belong  to  the 
mountaineers.  In  an  instant  the  storekeeper 
recognized  the  fact  that  this  new  arrival  was 
disguised. 

He  asked  for  a  "  plug  of  chawing  tobaccy  " 
in  such  a  very  natural  drawl,  however,  that  for 
a  moment  the  merchant  almost  doubted  the  dis- 
guise. 

He  paid  for  his  purchase,  bit  off  a  great  hunk 
of  it,  and  strolling  over  to  an  empty,  upturned 
cracker  box,  dropped  leisurely  down  upon  it 
as  though  he  had  merely  stopped  in,  in  a 


30  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

most  natural  way,  to  hear  the  gossip  of  the 
day. 

Close  upon  his  heels  came  Dawson,  the  moon- 
shiner, who  seldom  showed  himself  about  the 
settlement,  and  whose  coming  at  this  moment 
filled  Jube's  heart  with  forebodings  of  trouble. 

Duwson  stood  leaning  a  moment  against  the 
counter,  watching  the  stranger  through  his  ugly, 
swollen  lids.  His  two  confederates,  Long  and 
his  son,  moved  their  chairs  nearer  the  open 
door,  thus  commanding  a  view  of  the  entire 
store. 

And  all  the  time  that  Dawson  was  eyeing  the 
strange  man,  the  stranger  was  watching  Joe 
Bentley.  Many  times  Joe  had  passed  him, 
brushing  him  more  than  once  in  the  crowd,  as 
he  went  in  and  out  carrying  bundles  to  the 
wagons  of  the  customers,  hitching  horses  for  the 
women,  and  sometimes  carrying  a  pail  full  of 
water  to  some  thirsty  traveler  en  route  to  the 
gander-pulling. 

And  Jube — keen-eyed,  sharp-witted  old  Jube 
Jarvis — was  watching  the  entire  proceedings ; 


31 

and  always  with  an  eye  single  to  the  safety  of 
his  young  assistant. 

When  the  rush  of  custom  had  subsided  some- 
what, Dawson  addressed  the  merchant : 

"  Had  many  callers  this  mornin',  Jube  ?" 

"  Right  sharp,"  was  the  reply,  given  with 
indifferent  interest. 

"  Didn't  any  come  afore  you  ware  up,  I  reck- 
in,  did  they,  Jube  ?"  said  old  man  Long  from 
the  doorway 

The  storekeeper  looked  up  just  in  time  to  catch 
the  unmistakable  wink  that  passed  between  him 
and  Dawson.  But  he  was  quite  ready  for  them. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  he,  in  the  same  tone  of 
indifference ;  "  I  did  have  a  customer,  so  to 
speak,  afore  I  ware  fairly  up  this  mornin'.  Come 
in  a  mighty  hurry,  ridin'  a  right  peart  nag,  an' 
didn't  stop  powerful  long,  nuther." 

A  shade  of  purple  seemed  to  gather  under  the 
red  of  Dawson's  skin,  as  he  demanded  to  know 
who  the  customer  was. 

"  Who  ware  it  ?"  said  he.  "  Who  ware  it 
come  a-tradin'  so  early  ?" 


32  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

» 

The  merchant  glanced  at  the  young  clerk, 
measuring  at  that  moment  a  peck  of  dried  beans 
into  a  bag,  and  said  : 

"  Why,  Joe,  thar." 

"Joe?" 

"Yes,  Joe  Bentley;  come  to  git  some  coffee 
for  his  granny  afore  settin'  in  for  his  day's 
work.  An'  the  spry  young  nag  he  rid  over, 
why,  it's  tethered  out  thar  somewhars,  I  reckin. 
She  answers  to  the  name  of  Kit,  if  you're 
wantin'  to  talk  to  her." 

There  was  a  laugh  among  the  men,  at  Daw- 
son's  expense ;  even  the  big  distiller  himself 
smiled  at  the  storekeeper's  wit,  and  not  one  of 
them  thought  to  inquire  if  Joe  was  the  only  cus- 
tomer who  had  called  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning.  Jube  had  his  answer  ready,  but  as 
nobody  put  the  question  he  said  no  more ;  only 
to  tell  himself  that  it  was  "  none  of  his  business 
to  remind  them  of  their  oversight." 

At  that  moment  he  chanced  to  look  at  the 
man  on  the  cracker  box.  Did  the  fellow  give 
him  a  wink  before  dropping  his  gaze  to  the 


A   SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  33 

floor  ?  A  moment  later,  on  some  pretext  of 
looking  for  something  on  that  side  of  the  room, 
Jube  approached  the  stranger  and  gave  him  a 
more  critical  survey.  In  dress  he  was  a  typical 
mountaineer,  wearing  a  suit  of  brownish-gray 
jeans,  a  loose  frock  coat,  old,  and  somewhat 
patched  ;  a  red  necktie,  considerably  crumpled, 
and  a  slouch  hat,  rammed  in,  sugar-loaf  fashion, 
topping  the  shock  of  yellow  hair. 

About  this  time  one  of  the  men  about  the 
door  called  out  in  friendly  salutation  : 

"  Hello,  stranger ;  whar'd  you  hail  from  ?" 

The  man  on  the  box  replied  in  the  very 
purest  dialect : 

"  From  over  on  Cooney,  down  yander." 

"  Come  a-pleasurin'  ?"  said  Dawson. 

"  Come  to  see  the  gyander-pullin',"  was  the 
reply. 

After  this  the  talk  became  general,  the  inter- 
est shifting  to  the  gander  that  was  expected  to 
furnish  sport  for  the  afternoon. 

Some  "  allowed  "  that  Jim  Teik  would  get  the 
gander's  neck  "  first  pull ;  "  while  others  main- 
3 


34  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

tained  that  "  Lush  Simmons  would  never  so 
much  as  let  Teik  git  his  fingers  greased,"  if 
Lush  should  be  so  lucky  as  to  "  draw  his  pull 
before  Teik's  chance  came." 

In  the  general  discussion  the  visitor  from 
Cooney  was  really  forgotten.  And  evidently 
the  visitor  from  Cooney  forgot  himself;  in  fact 
he  must  have  forgotten  that  he  was  from  Cooney 
at  all,  and  a  mountaineer,  and  supposed  to  know 
all  about  gauder-pullings.  For  as  the  interest 
waxed  warmer,  he  tilted  himself  back  as  grace- 
fully as  the  backless  box  would  admit  of  his 
doing,  and  called  out  to  the  astonished  assembly, 
regardless  of  dialect  and  forgetful  of  conse- 
quences : 

"  How  is  it  done,  gentlemen  ?  How  is  the 
gander  pulled  ?" 

A  full  dozen  bounded  to  their  feet,  in  sheer 
astonishment.  Dawson  slipped  his  hand  down 
to  the  hilt  of  the  blade  in  his  belt  and  waited 
developments. 

"  Live  on  Cooney  an'  never  see  a  gander- 
pullin '  ?"  said  one. 


A   SIGNAL   AND   A  WARNING  35 

"  Why  Cooney  Creek  air  gander  heaven," 
declared  another.  While  a  third  laughed  out- 
right, and  declared  :  "  Why,  my  grandad  used 
to  live  on  Cooney  Creek,  an'  his  old  woman 
p'intedly  raised  ganders  for  a  livin' ;  the  boys 
ware  that  give  to  pullin'  of  'em.  Whar's  your 
mammy,  son,  that  you-uus  ain't  never  see  agan- 
der-pullin'  ?" 

It  was  Dawson,  however,  who  really  answered 
the  stranger's  question;  he  squared  himself  in  the 
sunlighted  doorway,  his  hand  toying  with  the  hit 
of  yellow  horn  hilt  visible  at  his  belt,  and  said  : 

"  Well,  stranger—" 

There  was  just  the  faintest  glimmer  of  steel 
below  the  knife's  hilt,  but  the  stranger  only 
smiled  in  an  innocent,  boyish  way  and  said : 

"  Well,  I'm  a-listnin'  to  you;" 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Dawson, "  we  pull  'em  here 
right  frequent.  If  a  gander  don't  come  real 
handy  we  jest  pull  somethin'  else  instid.  The 
way  we  do  it  air  this :  we  first  find  out  if  he's 
a  good  bird  for  neck  twistin',  fitten  for  nothin' 
else  more'n  likely,  an  then  we  grease  his  neck 


36  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

right  good  and  swing  him  up  by  his  feet,  if  he's 
a  sure  'nough  gander.  Then  the  boys  mount 
thar  horses,  and  then  the  'ringmaster/  as  they 
say  in  the  circus,  he  gives  the  nag  a  whack  with 
a  raw  hide  that  sends  him  spinnin'  under  the 
gander's  tree  whar  he  air  swung  to,  an'  the 
rider  has  to  make  a  lunge  at  that  thar  greased 
neck  o'  the  gander's.  That's  the  way  we  pull 
ganders  in  this  country,  stranger,  only  we  don't 
allers  stop  to  grease  thar  necks.  'Pends  on  who 
air  the  ringmaster.  But  you-uns  come  on  an'  see 
the  pullin'  this  evenin' ;  we'll  pull  one  jest  to 
pleasure  you  ;  maybe  we'll  pull  two." 

There  was  ugly  meaning  in  Dawson's  words, 
but  the  stranger  did  not  show  the  faintest  sign 
that  he  failed  to  take  the  description  in  good 
part ;  his  reply  contained  more  regret  for  his 
own  ignorance  than  any  doubt  of  Dawson's 
sincerity ; 

"  We-uns  aint  been  livin'on  Cooney  very  long, 
an'  thar  waren't  any  gander-pullin'  whar  I  ware 
raised.  I  mean  to  see  this  one  though,  for  sure 
an'  sartain." 


A    SIGNAL    AND    A    WARNING  37 

He  got  up  after  awhile,  and  went  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  place  selected  for  the  day's  sport, 
about  a  half-mile  beyond  the  settlement.  Others 
began  to  drop  off  soon,  and  before  twelve  o'clock 
only  the  proprietor  and  Joe  were  left  in  the 
store. 

When  the  last  old  woman  had  ridden  away 
on  a  sway-back  mare  with  a  long-legged  colt  at 
her  heels,  a  carpet-bag  satchel  swung  to  the 
horn  of  the  saddle,  and  a  mop  between  the 
gums  of  the  toothless  rider,  Mr.  Jarvis  called 
Joe  to  him. 

"Want  to  go  to  the  gander-pullin',  Joe?" 
said  he. 

"  No,  sir,"  Joe  replied  with  suspicious  prompt- 
ness. 

"  Go  if  you  want  to,"  said  the  merchant;  "go 
if  you  want  to." 

But  Joe  shook  his  head. 

"  Granny  said  I  ware  not  to  go,"  said  he. 
"  Granny  allowed  that  thar  ware  not  any  sport 
but  only  cruelty  in  treatin'  of  ganders  that  way  : 
an'  she  said  we-uns  had  had  trouble  an'  suff'rin' 


38  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

enough  without  wantin'  to  make  pleasure  out 
o'  the  sufferin's  o'  others  :  though  it  mightn't  be 
nothin'  but  a  foolish  old  gander.  I'd  ruther  stay 
here  after  granny  said  that,  an'  tend  the  store. 
But  you  go  on,  Mr.  Jarvis,  I  can  take  keer  o' 
things.  You  go  on  to  the  pullin'." 

"  An'  what  makes  you  allow  I  could  find  my 
pleasure  in  the  suffrin's  of  one  o'  God  A'mighty's 
critters  ?"  demanded  the  storekeeper. 

Joe  colored : 

"  I  didn't  mean  that  thar,"  said  he  quickly. 
"  Some  folks  allow  ganders  don't  count  nohows, 
being  as  they-uns  have  got  to  die  anyway.  An' 
some  say  they  haven't  got  any  reasonin'  an' 
don't  know  if  they  air  ill-treated,  an'  I  have 
heard  say  ganders  can't  die." 

The  merchant  grunted : 

"  Heard  that  from  them  as  likes  to  see 
the  pullin'  o'  thar  necks,  I  reckin.  Most 
folkses  cut  thar  cloth  to  hide  thar  own  deform- 
ities, Joe,  jest  you  rickerlect  that.  Now  I'm 
a-goin'  over  yander  to  see  that  thar  gander  die. 
He  ain't  any  relation  o'  mine,  as  I  knows  on ; 


A   SIGNAL   AND    A  WARNING  39 

an'  no  matter  what  the  kinship  air,  I'm  a-goin' 
to  see  him  die.  You  run  over  to  the  house  an' 
tell  Sary  to  give  you  a  bite  o'  dinner :  then 
skip  back  here  an'  I'll  go  and  eat,  an'  then  keep 
right  on  to  the  pullin'.  I  sha'n't  be  gone  mighty 
long  :  an'  if  anybody  comes  along  here  askin' 
after  me,  do  you  jest  say  I've  gone  to  the  gan- 
der-pullin',  an'  if  anybody  comes  wantin'  to 
hire  you-uns,  jest  tell  'em  you're  hired  to  me : 
for  two  days.  I  reckin  you  didn't  know  I  put 
two  pounds  o'  coffee  in  that  thar  package  this 
morning.  Well,  I  did  :  an'  I  claim  you  for  two 
days  to  pay  for  it.  So  thar." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said  Joe  earnestly,  "  I'm 
pow'ful  sorry  you  done  that.  I  can't  come 
to-morrow,  for  true.  I've  got  to — got  to — why? 
I'm  obligated  to  work  somewhars  else  to-mor- 
row." 

"  Whar  ?"  demanded  the  merchant.  "  Whar 
have  you  got  to  work  so  suddent?" 

Joe  hesitated,  and  glanced  apprehensively  at 
the  yellow  sand  of  the  road  outside.  Somehow 
he  always  seemed  to  feel  the  sole  of  Jube's  big 


40  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

boot  whenever  lie  looked  at  that  sandy  road.  He 
had  seen  grown  up  men  go  spinning  out  into  it, 
helped  along  by  that  same  boot :  he  fancied  that 
a  boy  of  his  size  might  never  stop  short  of  the 
tops  of  the  big  maple  tree,  if  old  Jube  decided  to 
kick  him  out. 

He  fancied,  too,  that  Jube  must  know  of  his 
father's  still :  it  had  been  running  for  several 
years.  Yet  he  dared  not  tell  the  old  man  that 
his  father  had  ordered  him  to  haul  a  load  of  ap- 
ples to  the  still  the  very  next  morning  ;  and  to 
remain  there  and  help  the  men  with  some  mash 
they  were  making. 

The  boy's  embarrassment  misled  the  store- 
keeper :  his  thought  was  that  the  stranger  of 
the  early  morning  had  intercepted  Joe  after  all, 
and  that  he  was  about  to  step  into  some  trap 
that  had  been  laid  for  him. 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  arm. 

"  See  here,  Joe,"  said  he,  "  me  an'  my  old 
woman  have  allers  had  a  feelin'  for  you-uns, 
seein'  as  you  ain't  got  any  mammy,  an'  worse 
than  no  pappy.  You  ain't  had  much  show  in 


A   SIGNAL   AND    A  WARNING  41 

this  world,  an'  I've  been  thinkin'  that  some  time 
maybe  you'll  be  tellin'  youse'f  that  you  ain't 
to  blame  for  doin'  of  things  aginst  the  law,  an' 
sech  as  that.  Now  I  want  to  tell  you  that  you 
will  be  to  blame.  The  law'll  hold  you  jest  as 
guilty  as  it  holds  the  meanest  of  its  critters  who 
go  an'  do  the  same  thing  you-uns  may  do.  An' 
the  good  Lord  ain't  goin'  to  hold  you  innercent, 
nuther,  beca'se  he  has  give  you  the  gift  of 
reasonin',  an'  of  knowin'  right  from  wrong. 
He  ain't  goin'  to  hold  no  soul  innercent  on 
which  he  has  bestowed  the  gift  of  conscience. 
Now,  do  you  rickerlect  that !  Now,  I'm  goin' 
to  be  gone  a  bit,  an'  if  anybody  comes  a-snakin' 
in  here  try  in'  to  toll  you  off,  or  hire  you,  do  you 
jest  say  Jube  Jarvis  won't  let  you  off,  an' 
that'll  end  it.  An'  mind  you  don't  do  any 
extry  tongue  work,  nuther,  whilest  I'm  gone. 
Run  on,  now,  an'  git  your  dinner." 

At  the  door  Joe  turned,  stopped. 

"  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said  he,  "  I'm  obleeged  to 
work  at — at  home  to-morrow.  Leastways  father 
— said — said — " 


42  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Oh,  at  home  !"  said  the  merchant.  "  Whyn't 
you  say  so  at  first  ?  Well,  you  needn't  be 
worryiu'  about  that,  I'm  thinkin'  they  won't 
need  you  to-morrow,  Joe." 

Joe  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  what  he  meant, 
but  he  was  very  glad  to  think  the  storekeeper 
might  be  right,  and  that  he  should  be  at  liberty 
to  work  at  the  store.  And  he  felt  glad,  too, 
now  that  he  could  see  his  way  to  paying  for  it, 
that  granny  had  her  coffee  for  some  days  to 
come. 

When  the  merchant  had  gone  off  to  the 
gander-pulling,  and  no  other  customers  came 
in,  Joe  began  to  feel  lonely.  The  very  silence, 
after  the  noisy  crowd,  had  a  loneliness  about  it, 
and  the  parting  admonition  of  the  storekeeper, 
too,  served  to  make  the  boy  thoughtful.  The 
earnest  words  had  sunk  deep  into  his  heart,  fill- 
ing it  with  a  strange  half  fear  of  something 
that  might,  perhaps,  be  threatening  his  own 
peace. 

He  became  almost  afraid  of  the  familial1  old 
store  itself  after  awhile.  The  big  barrels  as- 


A   SIGNAL   AND    A  WARNING  43 

sumed  a  certain  aspect  of  awe,  as  though  they 
could  foresee  the  trouble  ahead,  and  would 
have  warned  him  if  they  could. 

After  struggling  for  half  an  hour  with  the 
feeling,  which  he  told  himself  was  mere  coward- 
ice, he  went  out  and  took  a  seat  in  one  of  the 
vacant  chairs  on  the  little  porch,  and  gave  him- 
self up  to  reflection.  He  had  been  unhappy 
enough  carrying  that  fearful  secret  of  the  hid- 
den still  over  on  the  Rainbow  Falls ;  but  now 
the  thought  that  God  would  not  hold  him 
guiltless  filled  him  with  a  fear  infinitely 
more  dreadful  than  any  fear  of  man's  broken 
laws. 

What  could  he  do?  Refuse  to  haul  the 
apples  that  made  him  a  party  to  the  unlawful 
business  ?  That  would  be  to  bring  down  upon 
himself  the  wrath  of  his  father,  with  such  pun- 
ishment as  he  did  not  now  feel  able  to  bear. 
And  already  the  men  were  clamoring  for  more 
of  his  time.  He  was  "  too  saft,"  they  declared  ; 
too  much  "afeard  of  his  shadder,"  and  "too 
good  to  be  real  trusty."  He  might  consider  it 


44  A    MOONSHIXER  S   SON" 

his  duty,  they  declared,  to  "  up  an'  give  the 
still  away  some  time." 

So  they  demanded  that  he  should  be  made  to 
feel  himself  a  partner  in  the  business,  a  law- 
breaker as  well  as  they,  since  this  was  the  only 
sure  means  of  "  stopping  his  mouth." 

"  After  awhile,"  they  said,  "  when  he's  older, 
he'll  see  things  different."  After  awhile  they 
knew  that  his  tender  conscience  would  have 
become  hardened  and  he  would  indeed  be  one 
of  them.  "  Unless,"  they  always  added,  "  Lige 
don't  make  out  to  kill  him  first,  in  a  drunken 
temper." 

Defy  men  like  that?  The  mere  thought  of  it 
brought  to  him  the  memory  of  the  rawhide; 
he  winced,  as  though  he  could  feel  it  cutting 
into  his  flesh.  Once  he  thought  of  running 
away :  but  he  remembered  granny,  and  gave  up 
that  plan  of  escape  at  once.  Suddenly  a  clatter 
of  hoofs,  muffled  somewhat  by  the  sandy  road, 
broke  in  upon  his  thought.  A  moment  later 
the  tawny  mane  of  a  great  claybank  gelding, 
side  by  side  with  a  gallant  roan,  dashed  into 


A   SIGNAL   AND    A    WARNING  45 

sight.  The  horses  were  strange  to  the  com- 
munity :  Joe  recognized  on  the  instant  that 
both  animals  and  riders  were  from  a  distance. 
No  such  steeds  were  ever  seen  among  those 
rocky  ways :  great  glossy-limbed,  foam-flecked 
creatures  that  seemed  to  take  hold  upon  the 
solid  earth  with  their  strong,  shapely  feet.  Joe 
watched  them  in  fascinated  surprise  for  a  mo- 
ment. As  they  drew  nearer  he  saw  that  they 
were  mud-spattered  and  somewhat  overheated, 
as  though  they  had  traveled  far  and  fast. 

They  galloped  straight  up  to  the  settlement 
store  where  Joe  was  sitting,  and  stopped. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  Joe  remembered  that 
they  might  be  members  of  the  revenue  service. 

He  had  scarcely  drawn  his  breath,  however, 
before  one  of  the  men  addressed  him. 

"  Hello,  bub,"  said  the  rider  of  the  claybanK, 
"  where's  the  boss  ?" 

Instantly  Joe  remembered  the  storekeeper's 
warning  and  instructions : 

"  Gone  ter  the  gander-pullin',"  said  he. 

The   men  seemed   disturbed  for  a  moment: 


46  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

they  held  a  short,  half-whispered  consulta- 
tion, then  the  one  who  had  spoken  to  Joe  said : 

"  Could  we  get  a  drink  of  water  here,  bub  ?" 

Joe  replied,  without  moving  from  his  chair : 

"  Thar  ain't  any  water  here  fitten  ter  drink, 
an'  I  can't  leave  the  store  ter  fetch  any.  Thar 
was  a  pail,  full  and -fresh  ;  but  Jim  Sanderson's 
coon  got  in  it  an'  washed  his  hands,  an'  it  aiiit 
fitten  ter  drink.  Thar's  a  spring  right  over  thai 
cross  the  road,  an'  a  new  gourd  :  ye  can  get  a 
drink  thar." 

Joe  gave  this  information  without  the  faintest 
show  of  interest :  the  strangers  might  have 
been  discouraged  as  to  further  conversation 
had  their  business  not  been  so  urgent. 

"  See  here,  bub,"  said  one,  "  we  are  mighty 
sorry  to  have  missed  Mr.  Jarvis.  But  maybe 
you  can  tell  us  the  way  to  the  Eastop  place.  It 
is  out  this  way  somewhere?" 

Joe  shook  his  head  :  "  Don't  know  nothin' 
'bout  it." 

The  strangers  held  another  whispered  con- 
sultation, then  turned  to  Joe  again  : 


A   SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  47 

"  See  here,  bub,  can't  we  hire  you  awhile  ?" 

Joe  started,  and  almost  tumbled  off  his  chair  : 
he  was  wondering  how  on  earth  Mr.  Jarvis 
knew  what  these  men  were  going  to  say  to  him. 
Evidently  he  did  know,  and  that  was  sufficient 
to  prompt  Joe  to  reply  without  hesitation,  and 
in  a  way  that  admitted  of  no  argument : 

"  No,  sir,"  said  he,  "  ye  can't.  I'm  hired  here  : 
ter  keep  store." 

"  To-morrow,  then,"  said  the  stranger  ;  "  see 
here !"  He-  ran  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and 
drew  out  a  half-dozen  silver  coins.  He  held 
up  a  bright  new  dollar.  "  I'll  give  you,  say  five 
of  these,  for  a  day's  work ;  if  you  do  it  well  I'll 
make  it  ten  !" 

To  a  boy  brought  up  in  simple,  humble  ways, 
as  Joe  had  been,  the  money  did  not  possess  any 
very  great  temptation,  although  he  under- 
stood that  those  ten  dollars  would  bring  many 
things  into  the  little  cabin  on  the  bluff  hitherto 
unknown  there.  With  those  pieces  of  silver 
safely  hidden  away  from  his  father's  eye,  his 
grandmother  would  be  sure  of  her  coffee  for 


48  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

many  a  day,  when  Lige  was  drunk  and  would 
not  allow  them  to  send  to  the  store  tor  it.  He 
thought  of  the  new  tools  they  would  add  to  the 
little  chest  under  granny's  bed,  and  of  the 
tobacco  with  which  they  would  supply  her  pipe, 
if  only  they  were  his.  He  thought  very  quickly, 
however,  and  not  once  with  any  idea  of  accept- 
ing the  offer  tendered  him ;  he  was  already 
hired;  that  was  sufficient  reason  for  refusal, 
without  Mr.  Jarvis's  special  warning.  He  shook 
his  yellow-crowned  head,  therefore,  and  replied 
with  dogged  persistence : 

"  I  ain't  fur  hire  to-morrer  nuther ;  I'm  hired 
here  already  to  Mr.  Jarvis ;  I  done  told  you 
onc't." 

With  this  they  understood  that  he  was  regu- 
larly employed  at  the  store  and  at  once  changed 
their  offer. 

"  Well,  then,  we  must  find  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said 
the  gentleman  who  was  astride  the  roan. 
"  Scoot  down  from  there,  youngster,  and  pilot  us 
to  the  place  where  they  are  having  the  gander- 
pulling  and  you  get  that." 


A   SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  49 

He  flipped  a  dollar  at  him  with  his  thumb 
and  forefinger  as  he  spoke.  The  silver  struck 
Joe's  knee  and  fell  upon  the  floor,  where  it 
made  a  dozen  little  revolutions  in  the  sunlight 
before  it  lay  at  the  boy's  feet  with  the  goddess  of 
liberty  staring  at  him  in  a  sort  of  injured  sur- 
prise. 

Joe  merely  glanced  at  the  money  without 
stirring  from  his  place. 

"  I'm  obligated  to  stay  right  here,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  aim  to  stay.  I  mostly  tries  to  do  what 
I'm  obligated  to  do ;  but  you-uns  can  find  the 
gander-pullin'  easy  enough ;  keep  straight 
ahead  that  thar  road  right  before  you  till  you 
come  to  a  big  boulder  'longside  the  way  ;  storm 
flung  it  off"  the  bluff  one  night  an'  left  it  thar. 
When  you  git  to  the  boulder,  turn  to  the  left 
and  thar's  the  gander  pullin'." 

He  stooped,  picked  up  the  silver,  handed  it 
back  to  its  owner,  and  then  went  immediately 
into  the  store.  He  had  suddenly  remembered 
Jube's  last  warning,  "  not  to  talk  too  much." 

"  Seems  to  me,"  he  told  himself,  as  he  moved 
4 


50  A  MOONSHINEK'S  SON 

among  the  familiar  boxes  in  the  rear  of  the 
house,  "  seems  to  me  the  kentry  air  full  of  gun- 
powder, ready  to  go  off." 

The  strange  men  parleyed  a  moment  at  the 
door. 

"  It  isn't  any  earthly  use,"  said  one,  "  to  try 
to  make  it  without  the  boy.  With  that  boy  as 
a  guide  we  could  go  right  into  the  midst  of 
them,  two  attorneys,  as  it  were,  securing  evi- 
dence concerning  the  late  murder  at  the  Eastop 
place— Hush!" 

From  the  crags  in  the  rear  of  the  store  came 
the  sound  of  a  horn — a  long,  mellow  note,  fol- 
lowed by  three  short,  sharp,  commanding  ones. 
Again,  and  yet  a  third  time  it  was  repeated : 
that  strange,  commanding  melody,  and  always 
precisely  the  same  note,  in  precisely  the  same 
time.  The  men,  started  ;  the  horn  was  a  signal, 
a  warning  to  some  one,  somewhere. 

Joe,  bending  over  a  nail  keg,  heard  it  and 
turned  a  startled  face  to  the  door.  At  that  mo- 
ment a  man  came  running  from  the  woods  across 
the  road.  He  was  carrying  a  gun,  and  a  long 


A   SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  51 

hunting  knife  was  in  his  belt.  He  gesticulated 
wildly  to  the  men  sitting  on  their  horses  be- 
fore the  door  of  the  store,  and  shouted  a  warn- 
ing that  came  distinctly  to  Joe's  ears : 

"  For  your  lives — ride !" 

The  next  instant  the  strangers  had  put  spurs 
to  their  horses  and  were  galloping  down  the 
mountain  in  a  cloud  of  yellow  dust,  as  fast  as 
their  steeds  could  carry  them ;  riding  for  their 
lives.  The  horn  was  a  signal  from  some  point, 
warning  the  wildcatters  that  the  revenue  officers 
were  on  their  track.  Joe  recognized  it  at  once 
as  the  signal  agreed  upon  among  these  daring 
violators  of  the  law.  But  if  the  officers  had 
an  enemy  who  was  spying  upon  them  they 
likewise  had  an  ally,  and  Joe  Bentley  had 
recognized  in  that  ally  Joyce  Grim,  one  of 
the  most  regular  patrons  of  the  various  illicit 
establishments  scattered  throughout  the  moun- 
tain. 

The  officers  had  taken  to  flight  at  once;  when 
they  were  well  out  of  sight  Grim  strolled 
leisurely  into  the  store  and  asked  for  some 


52  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

tobacco.  Having  paid  for  it,  he  dropped  with  a 
great  pretense  of  weariness  upon  the  cracker 
box  where  earlier  in  the  day  the  stranger  from 
Cooney  had  sat,  and  began  to  tell  Joe  of  a 
thrilling  fox  hunt  that  he  had  been  enjoying. 
"  T'ware  away  over  yander  on  Pant'er  Creek," 
he  declared.  "  I  tromped  all  night  long  to  git 
here  in  time  to  holp  pay  complirnints  to  that 
thar  gyauder-pullin',  an'  come  up  jest  in  time  to 
miss  it  at  the  last.  Jest  my  luck ;  allers  my 
luck.  Never  had  no  luck  at  nuthin',  nohows. 
Didn't  git  no  fox  nuther,  the  blame  critter  run 
itse'f  into  a  bresh  heap  sech  as  no  respectable 
dog  would  go  into  after  it.  Had  to  give  it  up ; 
gander  same  way.  Well,  well !  I  reckin  I'll 
jest  set  here  an'  keep  you-uns  comp'ny  till  the 
rest  come  back,  Joe." 

Joe  said  nothing ;  he  knew  well  enough  that 
Griin's  sharp,  little  black  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him,  and  he  almost  trembled  lest  they  should 
probe  the  terrible  secret  of  which  he  had  acci- 
dentally become  possessed.  He  knew  that  this 
was  what  had  brought  the  man  into  the  store ; 


A   SIGNAL   AND    A  WARNING  53 

to  learn  whether  Joe  had  seen  and  heard  that 
which  he  had  done.  And  he  had  seen  the 
signal  and  had  heard  the  warning ;  he  under- 
stood that  the  men  were  revenue  officers,  and 
that  Joyce  was  an  informer,  a  spy.  Joe  knew 
also  that  this  meant  certain  death  if  once  the 
spy  should  come  within  the  power  of  the  moon- 
shiners. Grim's  doom  was  sealed,  as  sure  as 
fate,  if  information  came  to  their  ears  concerning 
that  signal,  and  that  three-word  warning  :  "  For 
your  lives !" 

Joe  was  too  startled  to  quite  understand  what 
he  meant  to  do,  but  he  knew  that  Grim  must  not 
know  that  he  had  seen  or  heard.  He  tried  to 
speak  of  other  things ;  to  ask  about  the  fox 
hunt;  but  somehow  his  tongue  refused  to  obey 
him.  Had  he  spoken  at  all  he  felt  that  he 
would  have  shrieked  out,  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  at  the  gander-pulling,  half  mile  away ; 
and  what  he  said  would  be  :  "  What  made  you 
do  it  ?  Don't  you  know  they  will  hang  you  for 
telling  where  the  stills  are  hid  ?"  It  seemed  to 
him  ages  that  he  sat  there  trying  to  ask  about 


54  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

the  fox  hunt  over  on  Panther  Creek,  and  saying 
nothing  ;  in  reality  it  was  not  three  minutes. 

Suddenly  the  informer  lifted  himself  with  a 
l)ound  to  his  feet  and  reached  for  his  knife.  He 
had  caught  the  expression  of  fear  in  Joe's  face. 

"What  do  ye  know?"  he  hissed.  "What 
did  ye  see  ?  What  did  ye  hear  ?  Out  with  it, 
ye  saft-spoke  kid  ye,  afore  I  rip  it  from  ye  with 
my  knife.  An'  you  got  to  swear  you  wont  tell 
it,  no  matter  who  may  ask  you.  I  ain't  told  on 
your  pappy  nohows.  Swear,  I  tell  you,  afore 
I  come  any  nigher." 

The  informer  gave  the  knife  a  threatening 
turn  as  he  drew  nearer.  Evidently  he  supposed 
he  had  only  a  "  kid,"  as  he  said,  to  deal  with. 
But  Joe  was  not  so  "  soft "  as  Grim  had  sup- 
posed. He  sprang  back,  squared  himself  against 
the  wall,  and  doubled  his  fists  : 

"  Stan'  back  thar,  Joyce  Grim,"  said  he, 
"  Stan'  back  thar,  I  tell  you,  You'll  find  it  a 
mighty  sorry  day  for  you  if  you  lay  that  thar 
knife  on  me." 

Whether  the  threat  was  merely  to  frighten 


A   SIGNAL    AND   A  WARNING  55 

him  into  silence,  or  whether  there  was  some- 
thing that  appealed  to  him  in  the  sight  of  the 
boy,  ready,  single  handed,  to  fight  for  his  life, 
Joe  did  not  know,  but  sullenly  Joyce  stopped 
and  slowly  sheathed  his  knife. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  ain't  you  a  pretty  baby  to 
come  a-bullyin'  of  a  man  my  size." 

"  An'  ain't  you  a  pretty  coward,"  said  Joe  "  to 
come  a-threatenin'  of  a  boy  my  size  ?  A  mighty 
brave  man  you.  Maybe  you  think  beca'se  I'm 
1  saft '  I  won't  fight  nuther,  but  don't  you  be 
befoolin  of  yourse'f,  thinkin'  as  I'll  stand  by  an' 
whimper  whilest  you-uns  tries  to  skeer  me ;  or 
maybe  kill  me  with  that  thar  huntin'  knife  o' 
yourn.  But  I  will ;  I'll  fight  till  I  drap  in  my 
tracks,  'fore  I'll  let  a  bully  like  you-uns  be 
imposin'  on  me  wrongful.  Stan'  back  thar,  I 
tell  you.  Whyn't  you  gimme  time  to  answer 
you  ?  No  ;  I  won't  lie  for  nobody  ;  an'  I  wont 
swear  nuther ;  not  for  nobody,  let  alone  you- 
uns.  You  ax  me  what  I  see  an'  heeard  ?  Well, 
I  see  you-uns — " 

'*  Shet  up  thar  !"  yelled  Grim  ;  "  if  you  don't 


56  A    MOONSHINERS   SON 

want  your  mouth  shet  for  you.  Bawlin'  out  to 
the  whole — " 

A  step  sounded  outside,  perhaps  Grim  had 
heard  it,  and  a  stout,  familiar  figure  filled  the 
doorway. 

"  How  now?  What's  up?  What's  all  this 
here  row  in  my  house  mean  ?  What  you  doin' 
here,  Grim  ?" 

Jube  Jarvis  stood  in  the  door,  his  usually 
pleasant  face  angry  and  threatening ;  he  glanced 
at  the  visitor,  dogged  and  sullen  enough  he 
looked  now,  and  then  at  Joe,  braced  against  the 
wall,  with  his  eyes  full  of  anger  and  his  hands 
still  drawn  up  into  fists. 

"  He  come  at  me  with  his  knife,"  said  Joe.  "  He 
come  at  me  with  his  knife,  Mr.  Jarvis,  an'  allowed 
I  ware  a  '  saft-spoke  kid  '  beca'se  I  see  him — " 

Jube  Jarvis  didn't  care  to  shoulder  Grim's 
deadly  secret;  he  didn't  wait  for  Joe  to  finish, 
he  merely  stepped  across  the  room,  lifted  his 
big  cowhide  boot  and  sent  his  last  customer  fly- 
ing through  the  open  door  like  a  spent  sky 
rocket  on  the  home  trip. 


A   SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  57 

He  landed  in  front  of  the  horses  of  a 
party  returning  from  the  gander-pulling,  and  a 
loud  guffaw  greeted  his  descent,  head  foremost 
in  the  yellow  sand. 

They  jibed  and  joked  him  without  mercy  as 
he  struggled  to  his  feet  spitting  the  sand  from 
his  mouth,  and  shaking  it  from  his  hair ;  while 
more  than  one  rider  wondered  to  his  neighbor 
who  "  Joyce  Grim  had  been  a-trying  to  fight  in 
Jube  Jarvis's  store,  to  make  the  ole  man  kick 
him  out." 

That  kick,  however,  did  good  service  as  testi- 
mony later  on  when  the  moonshiners  were 
hunting  evidence  concerning  the  information  to 
the  officers. 

As  for  Grim,  he  followed  the  warning  given 
the  officers,  and  "  rode  for  his  life."  That  was 
the  last  ever  seen  of  him  on  the  mountain. 

The  storekeeper  had  nothing  to  say  for  a 
long  while,  after  the  odd  exit  to  which  he  had 
assisted  his  unwelcome  customer.  Joe  felt  uneasy 
enough :  he  had  knowingly  and  purposely 
broken  one  of  the  rules  of  the  store.  He  had 


58  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

more  than  half  expected  to  be  kicked  out  him- 
self, and  was  not  by  any  means  sure  just 
what  manner  of  punishment  would  be  inflicted 
upon  him.  He  was  sorry  to  have  been  the 
cause  of  disturbance :  yet  he  was  not  the 
least  sorry  that  he  had  defied  Joyce  Grim. 

"  Can't  anything  make  me  sorry  I  toP  that 
thar  sneak  he  was  a  coward,"  said  he  as  he 
stood  back  among  the  shadows  in  the  store  wait- 
ing for  Mr.  Jarvis  to  speak. 

The  old  man  sat  in  front  of  the  door,  on  the 
outside,  smoking  his  pipe,  his  old  face  wearing 
something  very  nearly  resembling  a  smile,  only 
Joe  did  not  know  that,  for  the  face  was  turned 
from  him,  and  moreover  was  half  hidden  by  the 
smoke  rising  from  the  pipe. 

Joe  glanced  at  the  tall  maple  tree,  and  then 
down  at  his  own  spare  dimensions. 

"  Ef  he'd  a  kicked  me  plumb  square  up  to 
the  topmos'  limbs  I'd  be  glad  I  sassed  that  thar 
Grim,"  said  he ;  and  he  said  it  aloud,  without 
being  conscious  that  he  was  speaking.  "  Wanted 
to  swear  me  to  lie  for  him."  The  chair  in 


A    SIGNAL    AND    A  WARNING  59 

which  the  proprietor  was  sitting  squeaked,  ever 
so  lightly,  and  the  fat  figure  of  the  proprietor 
shook,  just  the  least  little  bit,  but  nobody 
saw  it,  except  it  might  be  a  crow  that  was 
passing  overhead  to  a  dead  tree  on  the  crags 
hard  by 

Twilight  descended,  the  merchant  smoked  on  ; 
and  still  Joe  waited  for  his  scolding.  Finally 
he  went  outside,  where  Mr.  Jarvis  was  sit- 
ting, and  hung  about  silent  and  uneasy,  until  at 
last  the  merchant  looked  up  from  his  pipe  and 
said : 

"Well,  Joe?     Well,  sir?" 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  said  Joe,  plunging  at  once  into 
the  trouble,  "  I  hope  you  ben't  mad  beca'se  I  fit 
him  in  the  store." 

The  fat  face  was  suddenly  obscured  by  a  cloud 
of  blue  smoke,  but  there  was  a  half  concealed 
satisfaction  in  the  old  man's  voice  as  he  said, 
with  well  assumed  carelessness : 

"  Did  ye  fight  him,  Joe  ?" 

• "  I  would  a  fit,"  said  Joe.  "  I  ain't  desarvin' 
of  no  good  words  for  not  fightin',  Mr.  Jarvis, 


60  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

for  I  would  a  fit  in  a  minute.  He  drawed  on 
me,  an'  called  me  a  '  saft-spoke,'  an'  allowed  I 
had  to  tell  what  I  knowed,  else  he'd  git  it  from 
me  with  his  knife.  If  he'd  come  a  step  nigher 
I'd  a  fit  him.  I  ware  just  good  for  a  fight.  I  told 
him  so,  an'  he  stopped.  But  I  called  him  a  cow- 
ard, right  thar  in  you-uns'  store.  I  ware  tolerble 
mad,  an'  I  reckin  there'd  been  a  fight  if  you 
hadn't  come  in  when  you  did.  I'm  pow'ful 
sorry  it  ware  in  the  store,  Mr.  Jarvis,  but  thar 
can't  no  coward  come  a-bullyin'  of  me,  nor 
swearin'  of  me  to  a  lie." 

Mr.  Jarvis  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
tapped  the  bowl  gently  upon  the  palm  of  his 
hand :  the  white  ash  fell  lightly,  noiselessly  to 
the  floor,  a  red  spark  gleaming  for  a  second  among 
the  dead  grayness. 

"  Joe,"  said  he,  "  a  boy  has  got  to  learn  to 
live  peaceable  if  he  expects  to  be  a  peaceable 
man." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joe,  choking  back  the  tears, 
"  I  know  that  air  true." 

"An',"    continued  the    storekeeper    without 


A    SIGNAL   AND    A  WARNING  61 

noticing  the  interruption,  "  a  boy  has  got  to 
learn  to  stan'  up  for  hisse'f  ef  he  expects  to  be 
a  man,  an'  have  the  respect  of  men.  Now  don't 
you  never  go  courtin'  of  a  fight :  an'  keep 
out  o'  sech  if  ye  can.  But  if  a  coward  comes 
bullyin'  of  you  an'  tryin'  to  skeer  you  into 
that  you  know  to  be  wrong,  do  you  just  stand 
up  for  yourse'f  like  a  man  !  If  you  can't  whip 
him  you  can  be  whipped  standin'  up  for 
your  principles.  Son,  I'm  downright  proud  of 
you."  And  the  storekeeper  quietly  refilled  his 
pipe. 

The  next  day  old  Mrs.  Martin  had  occasion 
to  pay  a  visit  to  a  neighbor.  She  went  to  bor- 
row a  dip  of  snuff,  and  what  she  said  was : 

"Gimme  the  dip,  Almiry,  I  must  be  skittin' 
along  back.  The  old  man  don't  know  I'm  here. 
But  I  jest  can't  tromp  over  to  Yarbrough's  this 
day ;  an'  I  jest  can't  stand  it  no  longer  not  to 
have  a  dip  o'  snuff.  But  I  must  get  along  back  ; 
the  old  man's  mighty  upset  about  my  blowin'  of 
the  horn  yistiddy.  You  might  a  heard  him 
quar'lin'  plumb  over  to  the  settlemint.  You 


G2  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

see,  I  went  over  to  Jube's  yistiddy  to  get  a  box 
o' snuff;  but  Jube,  lie  got  a  close  fit  on  him 
someliows,  an'  lie  wouldn't  trade — my  way.  So 
I  went  'long  back  home,  an'  the  men  folks  all 
went  off  to  the  gander-pullin'.  After  they-uns 
ware  all  gone  -it  began  to  git  a  little  lonesome  ; 
an'  the  lonesomer  it  got  the  more  I  missed  that 
thar  dip.  So  I  says  to  the  chillen,  says  I,  '  I'm 
a-goin'  to  see  a  old  woman  down  on  Sugar  Creek 
what's  down  with  the  fever,  an'  I'll  git  a  dip 
down  thar.'  It  war  three  good  mile,  if  it  war  a 
step.  I  tromped  it  every  foot.  And  when  I 
got  thar,  bless  your  soul,  thar  wasn't  a  dust  of 
snuff  in  the  house ;  an'  the  pore  old  critter  that 
sick  and  not  a  soul,  barrin'  a  little  gran'child,  to 
do  a  thing  about  the  place.  So  I  made  out  to 
straighten  the  house  up  some,  for  the  land 
knows  it  was  needin'  of  straightening  an'  then  I 
set  a  spell  an'  we-uns  talked ;  an'  then  I  put  her 
up  a  bite  of  warm  victuals,  an'  then  I  went  home. 
An'  all  the  time  that  thar  dip  what  Jube  got  too 
stingy  to  trade  for  was  a-troublin'  of  my  mind. 
So  instid  o'  comin'  on  straight  home  I  turned 


A   SIGNAL   AND    A  WARNING  63 

off  into  the  crossroads — t'wa'nt  no  more'n  a 
mile  out'n  the  way — to  Ann  Long's  house,  to 
borry  a  dip  of  Ann.  Ann's  box  ware  empty 
as  a  gourd,  too,  but  she  crumpled  up  a  handful 
of  the  old  man's  tobaccy  an'  give  me  that  to 
sort  o'  stay  my  appetite  for  the  snuff  till  I  could 
get  over  to  Yarbrough's,  or  else  till  Jube  got 
over  his  close  fit.  After  Ann  fixed  up  the 
tobaccy  dust  for  me,  I  started  home.  About 
half  way  thar,  after  striking  the  big  road  again, 
I  met  two  mens  a-ridin'  of  the  fines'  nags  I  ever 
set  eyes  on.  My  !  my  !  but  they  ware  pretty  ! 
One  of  'em  ware  a  clay  bank  ;  the  very  spit  of 
one  my  dad  useter  own  ;  an'  he  allers  said  his 
ware  the  very  spit  o'  one  his  dad — my  gran'dad 
— useter  own  ;  one  he  rid  to  the  polls  onc't  to 
vote  for  Henry  Clay  to  be  preserdint.  I  ain't 
never  heard  if  Henry  Clay  ware  'lected  preser- 
dint or  no,  but  that  ain't  a-henderin'  of  my 
gran'dad  ridin'  that  thar  claybank  to  the  polls 
to  vote  for  him.  So  when  I  see  this  here  one  a- 
comin'  down  the  road  all  spick  an'  span,  I  jest 
stepped  to  one  side,  an'  I  know  in  my  soul  if  I'd 


64  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

had  on  a  hat  I'd  a  lifted  of  it  to  that  thar  nag, 
an'  says  I,  '  Land  alive  !  if  that  don't  remind 
me  o'  Henry  Clay  !'  One  o'  the  men's  heeard 
me,  an'  they  stopped,  an'  says  one  :  '  Can  you 
show  us  the  way  to  Eastop  house  ?'  '  Straight 
road/  says  I.  '  Nary  crook  nor  crank  to  it ; 
nary  blessed  turn.'  Then  says  one  :  '  We  air 
workin'  up  that  thar  murder  as  ware  done  thar 
las' month.  Maybe  you  heeard 'bout  it?  We 
air  lawyers,  from  below.'  '  Well,'  says  I, 
'I  ain't  seen  many  lawyer  mens ;  an'  so, 
gentlemen,  I  wish  you  well.'  With  that 
they-uns  rid  on  an'  I  went  straight  on 
home.  When  I  got  thar  the  chillen  had  a 
mighty  tale  to  tell  about  two  men  as  had  been 
thar  axin'  the  way  to  Eastop  House.  Seems 
like  they  had  told  the  chillen  all  about  thai- 
business,  too ;  'bout  bein'  lawyer  mens  an' 
workin'  up  that  murder ;  what  the  whole 
mount'n  knows  enough  about  already.  So 
says  I  to  myself,  '  Polly  Martin,  your  gran'dad 
allers  said  you  had  a  nose  for  revernuers. 
Them  thar  men  air  too  set  on  makin'  it  plain 


A   SIGNAL    AND    A    WARNING  65 

who  they  air  an'  what  they're  up  to.'  An' 
with  that  I  jest  stepped  to  the  door  an'  took 
down  the  horn  and  blowed.  I  felt  powerful 
upset  about  breakin'  up  the  gander-pullin',  but 
'pears  like  I  ware  p'intedly  bound  to  head  off 
them  '  lawyer  mens  from  below.'  I  heeard 
afterward  they  had  been,  seen  nigh  the  settle- 
ment with  thar  nags  all  spattered  up ;  don't 
know  whar  they  got  it;  they  ware  spick  and 
span  enough  when  they  passed  Polly  Martin. 
An'  as  for  that  thar  claybank,  as  I  ware 
a-sayin',  it  ware  the  very  spit  o'  one  my  gran'- 
dad  rid  to  the  polls  to  vote  for  Henry  Clay. 
Gimme  the  dip,  Almiry.  No,  you  needn't 
stop  to  wrop  it  up ;  I'm  goin'  to  have  it  right 
here  on  my  bresh.  I  aims  to  be  sure  o'  that 
thar  dip  this  time,  no  matter  what  happens." 


CHAPTER  III 

IT    WAS    GRIM    WHO    TOLD 

THE  officers  went  away  without  making  any 
raids,  and  after  a  few  days  the  mountain  settled 
down  to  its  customary  quiet :  although,  to  be 
sure,  the  distillers  from  all  the  country  round 
were  secretly  trying  to  discover  who  was  the 
traitor  among  them.  They  did  not  apprehend 
any  danger,  however,  as  the  effort  to  locate 
their  stills  had  been  unsuccessful.  Only  in 
the  heart  of  a  boy,  a  young  mountain  strip- 
ling, there  lurked  a  fear  that  danger  was 
hovering  near.  For  only  Joe  had  seen  the 
mysterious  signal  given  the  horsemen,  and 
only  Joe  had  noticed  the  disappearance  of  Joyce 
Grim. 

He  felt  that  he  ought  to  tell  his  father,  yet  he 
dared  not.     Moreover,  the  danger   did  not,  he 
considered,   threaten  his  father's  still,  and  the 
66 


IT    WAS    GRIM    WHO    TOLD  67 

liquor  made  there  was  not  circulated  very  freely 
about  the  neighborhood,  but  was  carted  to  a  dis- 
tant settlement,  and  sold. 

Yet,  while  he  felt  that  it  was  not  quite  fair  to 
allow  the  men  to  go  unwarned,  so  long  as  the 
whereabouts  of  Grim  remained  a  mystery,  he 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  warn  them.  Would  not  this  be  construed 
as  aiding  the  lawbreakers 

He  wished  very  much  to  ask  the  advice  of 
his  friend  the  storekeeper,  but  Mr.  Jarvis  re- 
fused to  listen. 

"  I  could  have  been  strung  to  a  saplin'  a 
hundred  times  since  the  men  on  this  mourit'n 
took  to  stillin',  if  I'd  a  mind  to  listen  to  all 
folks  have  tried  to  tell  me,"  said  he,  when  Joe 
broached  the  subject 

At  last  Joe  began  to  feel  that  old  Jube's  plan 
was  a  very  good  as  well  as  a  safe  one. 

"  If  I  done  that  I'd  be  better  off,"  he  told 
himself  more  than  once  during  those  slow  days 
of  torture  when  he  knew  the  distillers,  with  all 
their  shrewdness,  had  never  hit  upon  the  real 


G8  A  MOOXSHIXEE'S  SON 

culprit  in  their  search  for  the  informer.  It  was 
a  deadly  secret  that  he  carried  :  yet  it  had 
been  thrust  upon  him :  he  did  not  ask,  did  not 
desire  it.  And  the  burden  of  it  was  wearing 
his  heart  out.  The  injustice  of  it  appealed  to 
him  strongly. 

"  I  ware  not  peekin,"  he  told  himself,  "  an'  I 
ware  not  list'nin'  in  noways,  to  hear  anybody's 
secrets,  when  Joyce  Grim  called  to  them  thar 
men  to  '  ride.'  I  ware  not  to  blame,  and  I  won't 
kerry  the  blame  of  it." 

With  that  he  walked  boldly  up  to  the  store- 
keeper, bending  over  a  keg  of  nails,  and  said  : 

"  Mr.  Jarvis,  if  you  ware  to  git  hold  of  a 
secret  accidental  what  would  you  do  about  it?" 

The  merchant  gave  one  short,  sharp  glance 
at  the  boy's  face.  "I'd  jest  attend  to  my  own 
business,"  said  he. 

And  Joe  straightway  resolved  that  this  was 
precisely  what  he  would  do.  But  one  night, 
about  a  week  later,  something  happened  that 
completely  upset  his  plans  for  following  his 
friend's  advice.  Since  the  visit  of  the  strange 


IT    WAS    GRIM    WHO    TOLD  69 

men  to  the  neighborhood  the  fires  had  been  ex- 
tinguished in  the  furnaces  around,  and  the  dis- 
tillers, though  quiet,  were  on  their  guard. 

Midway  the  road  from  Dawson's  place  to  the 
settlement  there  lived  an  old  man  of  whom  the 
brandymakers  had  been  for  some  time  suspi- 
cious. He  had  come  from  some  one  of  the 
valley  towns  years  before;  he  was  very  poor 
and  had  been  a  great  drunkard,  which  ac- 
counted, doubtless,  for  his  poverty.  For  years 
he  had  been  acquainted  with  the  secret  paths  to 
the  neighborhood  stills  ;  no  matter  how  difficult 
or  inaccessible  they  might  be  they  were  never 
beyond  reach  of  old  David  Links.  Within  the 
last  year,  however,  he  had  become  converted  at 
one  of  the  meetings  of  the  neighborhood  and 
was  now  loud  in  his  denunciation  of  the  illicit 
traffic.  Instead  of  the  hidden  paths  through 
the  laurel  brakes,  the  old  drunkard  followed 
the  dusty  highway  to  the  Methodist  meeting- 
house at  the  head  of  Panther  Creek.  Suspi- 
cion at  once  fell  upon  Links.  Links,  who 
had  drunk  all  the  liquor  he  cared  to  drink  in 


70  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

the  old  days  of  liis  vagabondism,  had,  they  be- 
lieved, turned  traitor,  in  that  he  had  turned,  or 
attempted  to  do  so,  his  former  comrades  over  to 
the  law  he  had  once  encouraged  them  in  break- 
ing. 

Since  the  still  had  been  idle  Joe  had  spent  a 
good  deal  of  time  at  the  store,  doing  such  jobs 
as  the  storekeeper  found  for  him.  One  evening 
he  tarried  at  the  settlement  later  than  usual. 
Jube  had  been  unexpectedly  called  away  to  an 
adjoining  county  on  business  and  had  left  Joe 
in  charge  of  the  store.  It  was  past  seven 
o'clock  before  he  returned,  and,  nothing  loath, 
Joe  had  his  supper  with  Mrs.  Jarvis  and  stayed 
until  Jube  got  back.  The  storekeeper  had 
promised,  too,  to  bring  back  a  bottle  of  lini- 
ment for  his  grandmother,  who  had  been  ailing 
some  lately,  so  Joe  had  concluded  to  wait  for  it. 
It  was  eight  o'clock  when  he  started  out,  afoot, 
for  his  grandmother's  cabin  on  the  bluff.  The 
September  moon  was  shining,  a  full,  golden 
circle,  straight  upon  the  long,  sandy  line  that 
represented  Joe's  road.  It  was  a  still,  warm 


IT    WAS    GRIM    WHO    TOLD  71 

night,  and  he  determined  to  follow  the  road, 
instead  of  striking  off  into  the  trail,  as  was  his 
custom,  although  it  would  be  a  full  mile  out  of 
his  way.  He  had  been  shut  up  in  the  store  all 
day,  and  somehow  the  long,  sandy  road  and  the 
tramp  through  the  still  moonlight  had  a  fascina- 
tion for  him  to-night.  The  beauty  of  the  night 
and  the  restfulness  of  nature's  perfect  peace 
cast  a  spell  upon  him.  He  walked  slowly, 
dreaming  dreams,  it  might  be,  of  the  days  to 
come  when  the  little  cabin  on  the  bluff  should 
know  better  times  than  these  that  had  fallen 
upon  it ;  times  when  he  should  have  become  a 
man. 

The  road  from  the  settlement  lay  in  a 
straight,  unbroken  line  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
before  it  made  a  long  bend  to  the  left.  Just 
before  reaching  this  bend  Joe  was  accustomed 
to  taking  the  herders'  old  trail  that  cut  through 
the  woods,  striking  the  road  again  beyond  the 
bend,  where  the  trail  crossed  it,  cut  through  the 
laurel  down  the  bluff  into  the  little  strip  of 
cove  land,  and  then  up  again  to  the  cabin 


72  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

on  the  crags  that  Joe  called  home.  The 
herders'  trail,  to  he  sure,  did  not  follow  this 
last  ascent,  hut  turned  off  to  the  right  in  a  line 
with  Hickorynut  Mountain. 

Joe  gave  himself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  his 
walk.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  break  the 
night's  stillness  save  the  muffled  tramp  of  his 
own  feet  along  the  dusty  highway,  the  hooting 
of  an  owl  far  away  among  the  blasted  cedars 
upon  the  mountain  top,  or  the  occasional  startled 
scurrying  of  a  frightened  coon  prowling  among 
the  wild  grapes  and  luscious  muscadines  that 
skirted  the  roadside. 

Joe  meant  to  leave  the  road  at  a  point  where 
the  trail  would  cross  it  for  the  last  time.  He 
reached  this  point  and  was  about  to  turn  off 
into  the  shadow-girt  stillness  when  a  sudden, 
sharp,  discordant  sound  seemed  to  cut  like  a 
knife  through  the  exquisite  stillness  of  the 
night.  He  stopped,  just  at  the  opening  of  the 
path,  to  listen :  hoofs,  in  quick,  uneven  gait 
was  what  he  heard.  It  seemed  to  Joe,  as  he 
stood  there  listening  to  the  inharmonious  clat- 


IT   WAS   GRIM    WHO    TOLD  73 

ter,  that  full  one  hundred  horsemen  must  be 
riding  down  the  road.  He  was  not  in  the  least 
afraid,  so  he  stopped,  full  of  a  boy's  curiosity, 
to  see  who  it  was  that  was  coming  at  that  gait, 
at  such  an  hour ;  for  the  nine  o'clock  visitor  was 
as  unusual  to  Joe  as  the  caller  that  came  at 
midnight.  At  first  he  could  see  nothing, 
although  the  moon  shone  bright  as  day,  but 
the  hurrying  hoofs  came  ever  nearer  and 
nearer,  until  at  last  they  swept  into  the  long, 
swinging  strides  of  the  gallop  in  perfect  move- 
ment. But  how  long  they  were — 

Suddenly  they  galloped  into  view,  not  one 
hundred,  but  six  horsemen.  It  seemed  to  Joe 
that  they  were  upon  him  in  a  half-second,  so 
close  that  he  could  see  a  little  strip  of  black 
drawn  across  the  upper  part  of  each  face,  and 
the  glimmer  of  pistols  and  of  knives  where  the 
moonlight  flashed  across  their  belts  as  they 
dashed  toward  him.  He  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow  wondering,  waiting.  The  next  moment 
he  saw  that  which  sent  the  blood  in  a  cold 
stream  through  his  veins,  paralyzing  him  with 


74  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

such  horror  that  he  could  neither  move  for  a 
moment,  nor  cry  out. 

Five  of  the  men  were  armed,  but  the  sixth, 
bareheaded,  coatless,  was  bound  to  the  saddle, 
and  in  the  moonlight  Joe  distinctly  saw  the  pal- 
lid face  of  old  Links.  Instantly  it  occurred  to 
him  that  they  were  going  to  take  the  old  man 
to  the  settlement  and  hang  him,  leaving  him 
there,  perhaps,  as  a  warning  to  future  informers. 
Such  a  thing  had  been  done,  but  it  was  long, 
long  ago,  before  the  law  became  so  vigilant  and 
so  unmerciful  to  mobs.  Joe  had  scarcely  an 
instant  for  thought;  only  the  sin, the  horror  of 
it,  and  the  part  he  himself  was  playing  in  the 
terrible  tragedy  filled  his  brain,  paralyzing  for 
the  moment  every  muscle  of  his  body. 

At  that  instant  the  gang  dashed  by  him,  so 
close  he  felt  the  breath  of  the  leader's  horse  in 
his  face  as  it  shied  past  him.  And  then  Joe 
realized  that  he  must  do  something,  that  he 
must  act  quickly  if  he  hoped  to  feel  guilt- 
less of  this  crime  of  murder.  He  must  save 
Links ;  tell  what  he  knew ;  manage  to  get 


75 

there  somehow  ahead  of  the  mob.  Scarcely 
knowing  what  he  did,  only  that  he  must  do 
something,  he  darted  across  the  road  and  into 
the  trail  on  the  other  side — the  short  cut  to  the 
settlement.  Like  a  shadow  among  shadows  he 
sped,  straight  back  to  the  settlement.  He 
ran  like  a  deer,  faster,  if  possible,  than  a  deer. 
Though  he  knew  that  he  had  not  the  faintest 
chance  against  those  galloping  hoofs,  still  he 
ran.  Something  might,  something  must  hap- 
pen to  delay  them  and  give  him  a  chance  to 
tell  what  he  had  seen  and  heard.  And  even  in 
that  hour  of  horror  Joe  felt  glad  that  he  had 
not  been  frightened  into  a  promise  not  to  tell 
what  he  knew.  He  did  not  stop  now  to  argue 
with  himself,  to  wonder  if  he  were  safe  in  doing 
this.  He  only  yielded  himself  to  nature,  and 
that  which  seemed  the  one  thing  possible  and 
right. 

The  quarter  of  a  mile  had  never  seeined  so 
endless  as  it  did  to-night,  but  he  emerged  from 
the  shadows  at  last  into  the  open  road  to  the 
settlement,  footsore,  a  spent  runner  indeed,  to 


76  A  MOOXSHINER'S  SON 

see  the  group  gathered  under  the  big  maple 
tree  in  front  of  the  settlement  store. 

Not  a  light  was  visible,  save  the  golden  glory 
of  the  moon ;  and  such  a  sight  as  she  looked 
down  upon ! 

The  men  were  congregated  under  the  tree, 
noiseless  as  shadows,  though  some  one  seemed 
to  be  giving  directions  by  a  sort  of  pantomime. 
Joe  wondered  if  he  were  in  time;  he  tried  to 
call  to  them,  but  his  throat  was  dry  and  parched, 
and  he  could  not  be  heard.  He  understood 
that  they  must  have  stopped  to  hitch  their 
horses  at  the  bend  of  the  road  and  that  they 
had  walked  from  there  to  the  tree  in  order  not 
to  arouse  the  settlement,  for  anybody  could  see 
that  the  big,  burly  figure  with  a  bit  of  calico 
over  his  face  was  Dawson,  and  Dawson  had  no 
wish  to  be  recognized  as  one  of  a  mob.  They 
worked  hurriedly.  One  of  the  men  had  tossed 
the  end  of  a  rope  over  a  limb  of  the  tree ;  the 
other  was  fastened  about  the  neck  of  a  bent  old 
figure  that  cowered  and  trembled  and  begged 
piteously,  in  low,  broken  tones,  for  life. 


IT   WAS   GRIM   WHO   TOLD  77 

Joe  tried  not  to  see,  lest  he  should  never  be 
able  to  forget  the  scene,  as  he  fell,  rather  than 
ran,  into  the  midst  of  the  group  and  shouted : 

"  Don't  do  it !     Wait—" 

As  the  boy's  voice  rang  out  sharply  upon  the 
night,  a  door  opened  across  the  way  and  Jube 
Jarvis  stepped  noiselessly  out  into  the  shadow 
of  the  porch  to  hear  what  was  going  on. 

Panting  and  breathless  Joe  could  only  grasp 
the  arm  of  the  man  who  was  holding  the  rope 
and  gasp,  between  breaths : 

"  He— didn't— do  it,  Mr.  Links  didn't— I— 
know.  Wait — a — min — ute — I'll — tell — in — a 
— minute.  Take — off — the — rope !" 

The  hand  upon  the  rope  slowly  opened  ;  the 
loose  coil  fell  upon  the  ground  like  a  serpent 
slowly  unwinding.  Surprise  at  the  unexpected 
interruption  drove  every  other  thought  from 
their  minds  for  a  moment. 

Then  Dawson  spoke,  in  a  disguised  voice : 

"  See  here,  bub  " — he  had  recognized  Joe  as 
Bentley's  boy,  but  he  had  no  idea  of  allowing 
Joe  to  recognize  him — "what  is  it  ye  know? 


78  A  MOOXSHINER'S  SON 

Out  with  it  mighty  quick.  Else — "  He  gave 
the  rope  a  kick  with  his  foot  and  looked  up  into 
the  half  denuded  branches  of  the  tree  in  a  way 
that  made  Joe  shiver  and  turn  away  his  eyes. 

Jube  Jarvis  stepped  down  to  the  shadow  of  a 
hemlock  that  grew  in  the  corner  of  his  yard 
and  listened.  He  carried  a  revolver  in  his 
hand  ;  the  click  of  it  sounded  ominously  sug- 
gestive as  he  set  the  trigger  at  cock  and  waited  to 
learn  what  the  mob  meant  to  do  in  regard  to  Joe. 

Joe,  meanwhile  recovered  his  breath  suffi- 
ciently to  make  himself  understood,  and  was 
telling  what  he  knew  of  the  proposed,  but  foiled, 
raid. 

"  Mr.  Links  didn't  tell  on  ye — "  said  he,  when 
a  voice  interrupted  : 

'"On  who?" 

"  On  nobody,"  said  Joe.  "  I  don't  know  fur 
sure  who  told,  but  I'm  'bliged  ter  tell  what  I  do 
know,  ef  I  git  my  own  self  hanged  fur  it.  I 
can't  set  still  an'  see  the  innercent  suffer  no- 
ways, an'  I  reckiu  Joyce  Grim's  the  one  what 
told." 


IT   WAS   GKIM   WHO   TOLD  79 

"  Joyce  Grim  ?" 

There  was  a  general  whisper  of  surprise. 

"  Yes,  Joyce  Grim.  I  ware  keepin'  store  fur 
Mr.  Jarvis  that  day,  an'  I  see  Joyce  Grim  make 
some  signs  ter  them  two  lawyer  men  as  were 
tryin'  ter  hire  me  ter  take  'em  ter  the  gander- 
pullin'.  It  ware  when  Mis'  Martin  blowed  her 
horn ;  Joyce  he  run  out  o'  the  woods  over  thar 
an'  signaled  the  men :  and  he  hollered  ter  'em 
ter  '  ride  fur  thar  lives ;'  and  they  rid.  Then 
Joyce  he  come  in  the  store  an'  wanted  ter  fight 
me,  an'  make  me  promise  I  wouldn't  tell  no 
matter  who  axed  me.  An'  when  I  wouldn't  he 
drawed  his  knife  an'  allowed  he'd  kill  me  ef  I 
didn't  shet  up.  An'  jest  then  Mr.  Jarvis  he 
come  up  an'  kicked  him  out  fur  fightin'  in  the 
store.  Some  of  you-uns  must  a-seen  him  do 
it :  and  then  Joyce  he  run  away.  An'  that's 
all." 

It  was  a  plain  story,  plainly  told.  They  knew 
it  was  true  :  some  of  them  did  remember  seeing 
Jube  kick  Joyce  Grim  into  the  road,  and  others 
remembered  having  heard  about  it. 


80  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Joe  felt  glad  that  Grim  was  beyond  their 
reach  that  night.  If  they  had  been  determined 
to  hang  old  Links  on  mere  suspicion,  Joe 
trembled  to  think  what  would  have  been  the  fate 
of  the  real  informer  had  he  come  within  the 
power  of  those  infuriated  men  that  night. 

When  he  had  told  his  story  Dawson  stepped 
forward  and  with  his  own  hands  cut  away  the 
rope  that  bound  their  prisoner. 

"  Do  you  go  down  yander,"  said  he,  "  to  that 
thar  thicket  whar  we-uns  left  our  horses  an' 
pick  ye  out  a  nag.  Then  do  ye  go  home, 
straight.  The  nag's  your'n  :  and  ye  better  not 
let  yer  jaw  wag  too  much  about  this  night's  busi- 
ness, nuther." 

Links  assented  silently :  after  all,  he  consid- 
ered, he  was  not  blameless  in  the  matter : 
had  he  not  affiliated  with  them,  made  himself 
one  of  them,  he  would  never  have  become  pos- 
sessed of  their  guilty  secrets.  He  accepted  the 
horse  as  they  intended  it — as  some  show  of 
reparation  for  the  wrong  they  had  done  him, 
and  soon  it  was  galloping  home  with  him  over 


IT    WAS   GRIM    WHO    TOLD  81 

the  road  he  had  never  expected  to  travel  again. 
And  as  he  rode  he  registered  with  God  a  prayer 
for  the  boy  who  had  spoken  so  bravely  and  so 
opportunely  in  his  behalf. 

"  He's  too  good  fur  Lige  Bentley  an'  his 
gang,"  said  he,  "  an'  I  pray  the  Lord  ter  pluck 
him  out  o'  thar  hands  an'  ter  reserve  him  fur 
Himself." 

When  Links  was  set  free,  the  mob  disbanded 
at  once :  for  the  confusion  had  awakened  the 
settlement :  more  than  one  window  had  been 
opened  to  ascertain  if  "  it  ware  daylight  al- 
ready ?" 

Only  one  question  had  been  put  to  Joe :  it 
was  Dawson  who  put  it : 

"  Whyn't  ye  tell  what  ye  knowed  sooner,  ye 
kid  ye  ?" 

"  Because  it  ware  none  o'  my  business,"  said 
Joe. 

The  men  laughed,  and  their  laughter  drowned 
a  pleased  little  chuckle  that  came  from  the 
direction  of  the  hemlock  in  the  corner  of  Jube's 
yard. 

6 


82  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Well,"  said  Dawson,  "  next  time  ye  better 
try  an'  make  it  yer  business  ter  speak  up  whenst 
ye  know  a  thing  like  that." 

"  No  I  won't,"  said  Joe.  "  I  won't  do  no  sech 
thing.  I  won't  be  blabbin'  about  things  that 
don't  consarn  me,  not  to  please  anybody." 

Again  the  men  laughed  and  started  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  thicket  where  they  had  picketed 
their  horses.  But  Dawson  called  over  his 
shoulder  to  Joe  as  he  was  going : 

"  Ye  can  ride  behin'  me  a  piece  ef  ye're 
minded,  bub." 

"  I  don't  want  ter,"  said  Joe.  "  I  ain't  ridin' 
with  mobs  an'  sech." 

He  had  grown  very  bold  since  he  had  resolved 
to  face  the  mob,  and  he  was  not  sorry  to  let 
them  know  that  he  disavowed  any  affiliation  with 
them,  and  that  he  had  only  done  what  he  had  in 
the  interest  of  justice,  and  not  in  their  interest 
at  all. 

Yet,  his  independence  pleased  Dawson,  too  : 

"  See  here,  bub,"  said  he,  "  ye  ain't  a  nat'ral 
son  o'  Lige  Bentley's,  that  ye  ain't.  I  can  a'most 


IT    WAS   GRIM    WHO    TOLD  83 

believe  ye're  Jube  Jaryis's  own  blood :  ye're 
that  like  one  'nother." 

It  was  a  compliment  Joe  was  not  expecting, 
but  the  shadow  under  the  hemlock  hugged  itself 
closer  and  chuckled  : 

" '  It  ware  none  o'  my  business,' "  said  the  store- 
keeper ;  "  that  ware  a  peart  answer,  son,"  and 
again  he  chuckled,  as  he  felt  that  his  lessons 
were  not  lost  upon  the  boy  he  had  been  trying 
in  his  own  rude  fashion  to  help.  "  An'  he  tol' : 
actually  tol'  on  that  thar  rascal  Grim.  Made 
up  his  own  mind  an'  acted  his  own  act :  done  it 
like  a  man,  too.  An'  how  he  did  sass  Dawson : 
my  !  my  !  it  ware  worth  a  night's  sleep  ter  know 
Joe  had  the  grit  ter  do  it.  I'm  downright  proud 
of  ye,  son." 

And  the  storekeeper  went  off  to  bed  again  as 
happy  as  though  he  had  found  a  gold  mine 
among  the  gray  bluffs  of  the  mountain,  while 
Joe  was  whistling  along  the  highway  as  blithely 
as  though  he  had  heard  the  storekeeper's  com- 
mendation :  which  would  indeed  have  given  him 
quite  as  much  happiness  at  the  moment,  as  an 


84  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

equal  division  of  the  gold  mine,  had  there  been 
one  to  divide. 

Then  quiet  settled  down  upon  the  mountain 
again :  September  drifted,  and  October,  bland 
and  beautiful,  crowned  the  bluffs  with  the  richer 
hues  of  scarlet  and  amber  and  purple.  No 
further  raids  had  been  attempted,  and  one  day  a 
letter  had  come  to  some  of  Grim's  people  saying 
that  he  had  run  away  to  Texas. 

And  so,  about  a  month  after  the  great  scare, 
the  furnace  fires  were  rebuilt  in  the  illicit  work- 
shops, and  the  stills  put  in  operation  again.  In 
the  face  of  danger  and  of  death,  against 
heavy  odds  and  with  mighty  risks,  with  only 
the  great  solemn  mountain  to  shelter  and  conceal 
them,  the  distillers  again  lighted  their  fires, 
cleansed  their  tubs,  and  set  to  work,  making 
wildcat  whiskey. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    RAID 

IT  was  mid-afternoon  and  the  mists  lay  upon 
the  mountains,  the  gray,  silvery  mists,  min- 
gling, or  trying  to  mingle,  with  a  long,  purplish 
line  that  rose  and  curled  into  a  tell-tale  column 
of  smoke,  among  the  bewildering  world  of  hills 
basking  in  the  October  sunlight. 

In  a  little  hollow  of  the  hills  three  men  were 
stretched  upon  a  bed  of  drifted  autumn  leaves. 
They  were  lying  flat  forward,  hugging  the 
ground  as  closely  as  they  might  and  still  allow 
for  the  handling  of  the  field  glass  through 
which  they  were  peering  eagerly,  passing  it  from 
hand  to  hand,  into  that  gracefully  ascending 
column  of  purple  smoke. 

They  had  watched  patiently  and  long  for  a 
glimpse  of  that  purple  line,  which,  they  had 
been  told,  ought  to  be  rising  somewhere  in  that 

85 


86  A  MOOXSHIXER'S  SON 

direction  the  day  old  Lige  Bentley  should  start 
the  fire  in  his  furnace  again. 

For  a  month  they  had  been  shadowing  the 
place,  stealthily,  craftily,  referring  now  and 
then  to  a  roughly  drafted  code  of  instructions, 
a  copy  of  which  e'ach  man  carried  in  his  pocket, 
for  sometimes  they  had  separated  for  days, 
meeting  again,  at  last,  in  the  little  hollow  to 
watch  again  for  the  blue  line  from  Bentley's 
furnace  fire. 

They  carried  no  luggage,  not  even  a  shotgun, 
though  each  man  was  armed,  not  for  attack,  but 
for  protection.  They  had  no  other  provision 
against  hunger  than  a  simple  little  lunch 
tucked  away  in  each  man's  pocket ;  for  down 
the  mountain,  about  midway,  near  what  was 
known  to  them  as  the  First  Bench,  there  was  a 
house  which  they  called  their  "Half  Way 
House."  It  was  here  they  went  for  food,  and 
to  this  house  they  crept  at  night,  under  shelter 
of  darkness,  to  rest  and  sleep. 

Sometimes  they  went  away,  down  the  valley, 
and  were  gone  for  days ;  and  seemingly  the 


A    KAID  87 

hunt  for  the  illicit  still  would  be  abandoned. 
But  after  awhile  they  were  back  again,  still 
watching  for  the  line  of  smoke. 

The  neighborhood  had  been  virtually  under 
detective  inspection  for  a  month.  And  that  for 
which  they  had  been  watching  they  had  at  last 
found,  a  little  curl  of  purple  smoke,  harmless 
enough  to  all  seeming,  and  that  might  have 
issued  from  any  chimney  of  any  honest  moun- 
taineer living  thereabouts. 

And  that  was  precisely  what  the  wily  old 
distiller  had  thought  when  he  put  a  torch  to 
the  dry  brush  under  the  copper  worm  and  sent 
that  line  of  purple  out  to  make  acquaintance 
with  the  grayish  mists.  And  so  the  watchers 
in  the  hollow  might  have  thought,  but  for  the 
directions  Grim  had  given  them,  and  which  were 
spread  out  now  before  them  on  the  leaves. 

"  It  is  smoke,"  one  of  the  watchers  declared, 
and  his  voice  vibrated  exultingly ;  as  though 
among  the  purple  and  scarlet  October  leaves  he 
had  found  occasion  to  announce — "  It  is  a  gold 
mine !"  "  It  is  smoke  ;  and  look  !"  He  ran  his 


88 

finger  along  the  written  directions  and  read 
aloud  in  that  half  whisper  that  had  become  a 
habit  with  him  during  his  last  mouth's  service : 

"  '  To  the  left  of  a  large  ledge  projecting  above 
the  surrounding  peaks  of  the  mountain,  and  to 
the  right  of  a  flat,  white-looking  stone ;  between 
the  stone  and  the  ledge ;  near,  and  to  the  right 
of  a  tall,  blasted  pine  tree  may  be  seen  the 
smoke  from  Bentley's  still,  of  a  fair  day,  when 
the  mists  are  not  too  heavy  or  too  blue/ ' 

"  Well,  the  mists  are  evidently  just  right  to- 
day, a  grayish  white.  And  yonder  is  the  ledge, 
'  The  Lion's  Head,'  he  called  it,  to  the  right  of  us. 
On  the  left  is  the  flat-looking  stone.  There  is 
the  blasted  pine,  and  right  there  between  them 
is  the  line  of  blue  smoke.  All  just  as  that  ras- 
cally Grim  promised  when  he  sold  out  his 
friends  for  ten  dollars.  Boys,  we're  in  for  it." 

"  Not  so  loud,  Jackson,"  said  one  of  the 
others.  "  Remember,  it  isn't  Grim's  neck  that 
is  in  danger  now,  but  our  own  lives.  That 
makes  the  two  we're  after.  Since  Dawson  has 
been  located  for  three  weeks,  we  were  only 


A   KAID  89 

waiting  until  the  old  fox  got  the  thing  into 
operation  again,  so  that  we  could  seize  him 
while  operating  it.  Now,  since  it's  done,  what 
next?" 

"  Next,"  said  Jackson,  "  I  am  going  straight 
back  to  town  and  tell  the  chief  we've  found 
them.  I  reckon  they  will  not  laugh  at  us  this 
time.  He'll  give  us  a  force  to  come  back  with 
to-morrow  night,  for  the  thing  must  be  done  at 
once.  I  suppose  he  will  take  in  old  Martin  on 
the  way  down,  though  that  little  concern  hasn't 
troubled  us  overly  much.  It's  the  big  game 
we've  been  trying  to  bring  down.  I  tell  you, 
boys,  we've  done  this  pretty  well.  The  day  of 
the  gander-pulling  I  thought  it  was  all  up,  for 
awhile." 

"  And  I  always  will  believe,  Charley,  that  it 
was  your  walnut  juice  gave  us  away.  You  for- 
got to  dye  one  eyebrow ;  didn't  he,  Ligon  ?" 

"One  eyebrow  and  two  lashes,"  laughed 
Ligon.  "They  say  a  mountaineer  can  detect  a 
revenue  fellow  if  one  whisker  is  left  uncolored." 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Jackson,  "  this  isn't  any 


90  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

time  for  joking.  I  admit  there  was  a  stray 
lock  peeping  out  from  under  my  wig ;  at  least 
I  think  so,  because  I  saw  that  fellow  Jarvis 
looking  at  it  so  intently  that  I  pulled  my  hat 
down  over  my  head  more  snugty,  and  just 
about  that  time  that  old  horn  broke  things  up. 
I  don't  know  how  I  ever  did  get  the  wig  off 
without  being  seen,  for  it  wasn't  two  minutes 
before  Dawson  was  looking  around  for  me  with 
his  knife.  But  if  anybody  saw  me  it  was 
Jarvis.  He  didn't  matter,  because  I  whispered 
in  his  ear  who  I  was  the  very  first  hour  I  set 
foot  at  the  settlement.  I  had  been  told  the  old 
fellow  kept  a  still  tongue." 

"  You  had  been  told  that  he  wouldn't  lie  for 
you,  either,"  said  Ligon.  "  So  if  he  had  been 
questioned  he  would  probably  have  told  all 
about  you." 

"  That  he  wouldn't,"  said  Jackson.  "  I  know 
men  too  well  for  that.  When  a  man  won't  lie 
he  has  some  honor,  lots  of  it.  I  put  the  old 
fellow  on  his  at  the  outset.  A  man  like 
that  will  die  for  his  honor,  at  the  same  time 


A   RAID  91 

that  he  wouldn't  tell  a  lie  to  save  the  other  fel- 
low's life.  I  don't  believe  he  would  have 
allowed  them  to  attack  me  in  his  store,  either, 
for  you  know  what  Grim  said  :  '  He's  at  peace 
with  all  men,  an'  a  peaceable  liver,  .but  he  can 
fight  like  ol'  scratch  ef  he's  minded.'  But  this 
isn't  a  time  to  talk.  We  must  get  to  work. 
Now,  boys,  I  am  going  to  snake  it  through 
these  woods  and  carry  the  good  news  to  the 
chief.  We  don't  care  to  tackle  these  toughs 
alone.  If  you  boys  want  to  wait  till  night — " 

"  That's  just  what  we  do,"  said  Ligon.  "  One 
head  is  enough  to  risk  at  one  time,  isn't  it, 
Combs?" 

"  I'm  willing  to  wait  till  dark,"  said  Combs, 
"  but  I'm  ready  for  marching  orders,  too.  This 
is  Jackson's  job ;  I'm  ready  to  obey  Jackson." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Jackson.  "  You've  both 
done  as  much  as  I  have,  and  done  it  better  ;  for 
it  was  I  stirred  up  all  the  fuss  at  the  gander- 
pulling." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  Ligon. 
"  I  distrust  the  old  woman  who  '  hadn't  seen  so 


92  A  MOOXSHHSTEK'S  SON 

many  lawyer  mens.'  But  go  on,  Jackson,  what 
else?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  you  boys  wait  until  it 
grows  dark,  then  go  on  to  the  Half  Way  House 
and  get  a  good  sleep  to-morrow.  I  will  carry  the 
diagram  and  directions  down  and  go  over  them 
with  the  boss  to-night,  explain  the  plan  we 
have  agreed  upon,  and  come  on  to  meet  you  at 
the  Half  Way  to-morow  evening.  How  does 
that  suit  you  ?  We  take  Dawson's  first,  early 
in  the  evening,  too  late  for  the  news  to  spread, 
yet  early  enough  to  give  us  time  to  skirt  the 
mountain  side  to  Bentley's  before  midnight. 
Is  that  right  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ligon,  "  tell  him  that  Bentley's 
is  ten  miles  or  more  from  Dawson's,  the  route 
we  will  be  obliged  to  take.  But  that  there 
is  a  secret  trail  leading  from  Bentley's  house  to 
his  still,  large  enough  for  a  small  wagon  to 
travel.  We  can  follow  that  coming  back  and 
go  straight  on  down  the  mountain  with  our  pris- 
oners. Tell  him  there  are  four  at  Dawson's 
and  that  there  are  five  at  Bentley's :  four 


A    RAID  93 

men  and  a  boy.  Are  you  sure  you  will  know 
the  paths  and  the  exact  locality  by  night,  Jack- 
son?" 

Jackson  laughed  : 

"  I  haven't  been  hugging  these  hills  four 
weeks  for  nothing,"  said  he.  "  I  know  'em  like 
a  fox." 

"  Well,  be  sure  that  you  travel  them  '  like  a 
fox/  "  said  Ligon,  "  and  be  doubly  .sure  you 
keep  a  covert  ready  to  run  into,  my  boy  :  the 
hunters  are  pretty  wary  in  this  vicinity  just 
now.  Luck  to  you." 

Jackson  waved  his  hand  silently,  and  a 
moment  later  he  had  disappeared  among  the 
close,  rustling  tangles  of  laurel. 

That  night,  under  cover  of  darkness,  Ligon 
and  Combs  crept  away  through  the  woods  to 
the  house  on  the  First  Bench,  where  they  had 
a  cold  supper  at  midnight  and  went  at  once  to 
bed. 

It  was  noon  of  the  following  day  when  they 
were  awakened  with  a  summons  to  dinner,  and 
with  the  information  that  the  chief  had  arrived 


94  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

with  a  mounted  posse  of  five  men,  among  whom 
was  Jackson. 

They  ate  a  hurried  dinner,  and  were  soon  in 
the  saddle :  for  the  road  they  expected  to  take 
to  Dawson's  would  carry  them  many  miles 
away  from  the  still  before  it  finally  brought 
them  to  it. 

They  were  to  skirt  the  mountain  for  some  two 
miles,  then  cut  into  a  dry  creek  bed  for  about 
two  more ;  that  being  the  only  possible  excuse  for 
a  road  to  be  found  until  they  should  reach  an 
old  mill  road,  abandoned  when  the  mill  ceased 
to  be  operated  a  half-dozen  years  before.  Here 
they  expected  to  begin  the  ascent  again,  follow- 
ing this  old  road  until  within  a  mile  of  Dawson's 
still,  where  they  had  decided  to  picket  their 
horses  and  travel  afoot  to  the  place  of 
attack. 

Thanks  to  Grim,  they  understood  that  the 
still  was  located  in  the  old  mill  that  stood  on  the 
bank  of  a  noisy  little  stream  which  would  deaden 
all  sound  of  their  approach. 

They  were  also  instructed  that  the  mill  would 


A   RAID  95 

present  every  appearance  of  a  grist  mill  in  full 
operation,  except,  perhaps,  that  the  wheel  would 
be  stationary  :  the  miller,  it  might  be,  would  be 
resting  from  his  grinding,  in  the  mill  door. 
There  would  be  sacks  of  grain  scattered 
about  the  door,  too,  although  for  many  a  day 
the  only  visitors  to  the  old  mill  were  those  who 
brought  jugs  instead  of  meal  sacks. 

On  reaching  the  creek  bed  the  chief  had 
divided  his  men,  and  detached  two  of  them  to 
go  on  to  the  neighborhood  of  Bentley's ;  *with 
instructions  to  look  over  the  ground  thoroughly, 
and  to  keep  an  eye  on  Bentley  as  much  as  pos- 
sible without  exposing  themselves  to  danger  from 
discoverv. 

•/ 

"  And  be  sure  you  look  out  for  the  boy,"  said 
he.  "  The  fellow  Grim  gave  special  notice  of 
a  boy  connected  with  this  gang :  a  dangerous 
character." 

The  men,  one  of  whom  was  Combs,  set  out 
for  Bentley's,  and  the  rest  of  the  posse  passed 
on  down  the  dry  bed  of  the  creek  for  Dawson's. 
The  chief  gave  explicit  orders  that  nobody  was 


96  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

to  speak  a  word  to  any  one  they  might  chance  to 
meet  along  the  road  : 

"  We  will  take  no  chances  on  that,"  he  de- 
clared. "  These  people  are  far  too  shrewd  and 
too  suspicious  for  us  to  venture  any  kind  of 
acquaintance  with  them.  You  will  just  ride 
straight  ahead,  in  silence." 

It  seemed  a  needless  order  :  the  posse  had 
ridden  all  the  afternoon  without  meeting  a  liv- 
ing soul.  They  rode  the  length  of  the  creek 
bed,  -to  the  point  where  it  touched  the  old  mill 
road  and  began  the  ascent  of  the  mountain. 
Here  another  road  leading  to  a  little  settlement 
two  miles  distant  crossed  the  old  mill  road,  and 
there,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  crossing  roads, 
stood  an  old  woman,  a  gaunt,  toothless  old 
crone,  with  a  brush  between  her  gums,  who 
stood  staring  at  them  over  an  armful  of  gray 
warp  that  she  was  lugging  home  for  a  liit-or- 
miss  rag  carpet.  There  was  a  sleepy  look  in 
the  little  old  black  eyes  fixed  upon  the  posse, 
as  though  their  owner  but  half  comprehended 
that  those  strong,  sturdy  horses  straining  their 


A    RAID  97 

backs  under  their  burdens  were  carrying  men, 
real  men,  such  as  she  had  seen  every  day  of  her 
life.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  If  the  men  saw 
the  stupid  old  woman  they  gave  no  sign ;  there 
wasn't  even  a  chance  for  the  customary 
"  howdy,"  which  the  mountaineer  is  ever  ready 
to  offer. 

The  men  kept  their  eyes  upon  the  broad 
back  of  the  chief  riding  stolidly  along  in  front 
of  the  line.  There  was  something  suggestive 
of  the  brave  old  German,  Blticher,  in  the  droop 
of  those  massive  shoulders,  no  less  than  in  the 
sturdy  pushing  on  to  meet  the  dangers  ahead. 
Perhaps,  too,  there  was  not  lacking  some  of  the 
wisdom  of  the  proud  old  Prussian  as  well ;  for 
no  sooner  had  the  posse  passed  than  the  expres- 
sion of  the  old  woman's  face  changed ;  the 
sleepy  eyes  flashed.  The  old  crone  chuckled : 

"  Them  mens  air  up  to  somethin',"  said  she 
to  the  gray  warp.  "  They  ain't  revernuers, 
howsomever.  They're  too  glumsome  for  rever- 
nuers. Revernuers  air  mostly  too  friendly.  I 
know  'em  soon's  I  scent  'em ;  can't  fool  Polly 
7 


98  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Martin.  My  gran'dad  allers  said  I  had  a  nose 
for  revernuers." 

It  was  indeed  old  Mrs.  Martin,  going  home 
from  Yarbrougli's  store,  where  she  had  been  to 
trade  for  some  warp  for  her  weaving  the  next 
week.  She  had  no  suspicion  that  the  straight 
young  fellow,  riding  so  demurely  at  the  heels 
of  the  grim  leader  of  the  posse,  was  the  same 
for  whom  she  had  sounded  the  alarm  only  a 
few  short  weeks  before.  She  had  her  opinion, 
however,  though  she  did  not  express  it  until 
they  had  passed  beyond  range  of  her  sharp 
little  black  eyes. 

"  They're  up  to  somethin',"  said  she.  "  Them 
mens  air  sholy  up  to  somethin'.  Maybe  it's 
the  sheriff  huntin'  o'  someun ;  or  maybe  it's  a 
mob ;  else  thar's  a  big  camp-meetin'  goin'  on 
somewhars  on  the  mount'n." 

The  sun  swung  over  the  verge  of  the  bluff,  a 
blood-red  ball  of  fire  it  looked.  Night  was 
ready  to  drop  down  upon  the  valley,  already 
wrapped  in  the  shadows  of  twilight.  The 
tips  of  the  tallest  trees  were  scarlet;  but  in 


A   RAID  99 

the  woods,  under  the  shade  of  the  dense  old 
oaks,  and  pines,  and  hemlocks,  it  was  dark 
when  the  posse  dismounted  and  picketed  their 
horses. 

Then  they  separated,  in  order  to  surround 
the  mill  and  cut  off  escape  ;  for  the  object  of  the 
service  is,  not  so  much  the  destruction  of  the 
property  as  the  punishment  of  the  offenders; 
and  Dawsou  was  a  wiry  old  fellow  that  had 
been  wanted  for  a  long  time,  to  answer  for  the 
offense  of  illegal  distilling. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken.  Each  man  under- 
stood that  he  carried  his  own  life  and  the  lives 
of  his  comrades  in  his  hand ;  a  misstep,  an  un- 
guarded whisper,  and  all  would  be  lost. 

The  old  mill  stood  picturesquely  weird  in 
the  uncertain  light ;  a  red  glow  shone  from 
within  and  streamed  through  the  door,  which 
stood  wide  upon  its  rusty  hinges.  It  was  a 
subdued  glow,  red  and  warm  and  mellow  ;  a 
glow  from  the  distiller's  furnace,  where  some 
one  had  set  the  door  ajar  for  a  moment.  There 
was  a  low  sound  of  voices  in  careless  couversa- 


100  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

tion,  mingled  with  the  noisy  rush  of  the  stream 
hard  by,  bewailing,  it  might  be,  the  mill's  ex- 
change of  industries,  or  the  silence  of  the  great 
wheel,  hanging  useless,  like  a  dead  sentinel,  above 
the  fast  hurrying  current.  Perhaps  the  little 
mountain  stream  felt  its  own  abasement,  and  was 
singing  a  song  of  regret  for  the  good  old  days 
when  it  helped  to  make  the  hoe-cakes  for  the  lit- 
tle children,  miles  away  among  the  mountains. 

None  of  its  regret,  however,  disturbed  the 
group  of  idle  men  smoking  before  the  door  of 
the  old  mill,  in  happy  ignorance  of  the  stealthy 
figures  creeping  noiselessly  upon  them  through 
the  shadows  of  the  forest.  There  were  four  of 
them,  Dawson  and  his  three  confederates,  seated 
there,  distinctly  visible,  with  the  red  glow  of 
the  furnace  upon  their  backs. 

Within  the  shanty  could  be  seen  the  sacks 
of  grain,  as  Grim  had  informed  the  officers  they 
would  find  them.  He  had  also  instructed  them 
that  behind  those  sacks  there  were  bushels  and 
bushels  of  apples,  and  that  under  the  mill  floor 
there  were  barrels  of  brandy,  new  and  old, 


A    RAID  101 

waiting  for  a  safe  transport  to  a  certain  place 
of  sale,  the  name  of  which  had  never  been  in- 
trusted to  the  informer. 

The  still  was  in  full  operation.  Through 
the  open  door  came  the  fumes  of  the  half  dis- 
tilled liquor,  powerfully  condemning. 

Dawson  had  just  leaned  forward  to  receive 
from  one  of  the  gang  a  lighted  splinter  with 
which  to  freshen  the  smouldering  tobacco  in 
his  pipe,  when — Hist ! 

The  laurel  parted  all  about  them  and  a  hasty 
"  click  !"  "  click  !"  followed  by  another  and 
another,  suddenly  cut  the  silence  with  deadly 
meaning. 

The  sole  of  Dawson's  heavy  foot  touched  the 
ground,  but  before  he  could  rise,  the  muzzle  of 
a  pistol  was  pressed  against  his  forehead.  The 
voice  of  the  chief,  not  loud,  but  thoroughly  dis- 
tinct and  fearfully  in  earnest,  said  : 

"  Surrender !  all  of  you !" 

The  command  was  emphasized  by  the  gleam- 
ing barrels  of  the  deputies  standing  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  furnace's  light. 


102  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Only  one  man  attempted  to  get  his  hand  to 
his  belt,  but  a  weapon  at  his  head  put  a  sudden 
stop  to  the  faint  resistance. 

"There  isn't  the  slightest  use,  men,"  said  the 
chief.  "  We  are  all  around  you.  You  had 
better  surrender  quietly." 

They  did.  Not  a  shot  was  fired.  The 
surprise  had  been  complete.  The  distillers 
stepped  out,  one  by  one,  and  laid  down  their 
arms. 

They  remained  under  guard  while  the  brandy 
was  emptied  upon  the  ground  and  the  still  de- 
stroyed. Then  two  of  the  posse  were  detached 
to  march  the  prisoners  down  to  the  county  seat, 
and  ere  long  the  old  mill  was  left  to  the  shadows, 
to  the  rats,  and  to  the  lamentations  of  the  mur- 
muring stream  hurrying  past  it  to  find  the  more 
placid  current  of  the  Calf  Killer,  miles  away, 
beyond  the  mountain. 

And  then,  when  the  prisoners  were  fairly 
started,  the  chief  and  his  remaining  deputies 
headed  their  horses  for  Bentley's. 

As  they  swept  by  in  the  moonlight,  one  of  the 


A    EAID  103 

men  who  was  guarding  the  prisoners  called  out 
to  them : 

"  Be  sure  you  get  the  boy.  Grim  said  there 
was  a  boy  ;  the  sharpest  little  wildcatter  in  the 
lot." 

The  "  sharpest  little  wildcatter  "  meant  Joe. 
Grim  had  planned  his  revenge  nicely. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  MOONSHINEK'S  HOME 

WILD  and  picturesque  is  the  Blue  Spring ;  and 
the  Falls,  with  their  prismatic  lights — where 
the  waters  of  the  Spring  go  tumbling  over  the 
bluff  to  the  basin  a  hundred  feet  below — which 
have  won  for  them  the  name  of  "  The  Rainbow 
Falls." 

A  magnificent  hiding  place  was  the  Rain- 
bow. The  beautiful  Falls,  that  should  have 
served  no  baser  purpose  than  to  show  forth  the 
wonderful  handiwork  of  the  Master,  was  made 
to  serve  the  distillers  in  their  illicit  work.  For 
midway  the  great  bluff  and  far  back  under  the 
overhanging  rocks  a  cavity  opens.  In  the 
centre  of  the  roof  a  spring  trickles  down  into 
an  old,  rotted  trough,  and  beyond  the  trough 
into  a  basin  bottomed  with  bright,  pinkish  peb- 
bles. A  great  heap  of  stones  tells  where  a  fur- 
104 


THE  MOONSHLNEB'S  HOME  105 

nace  has  been ;  these,  with  the  remnants  of  a 
twisted,  copper  worm,  proclaim  all  too  plainly 
the  service  the  beautiful  cataract  was  made 
to  perform.  Falling  from  the  bluff  above, 
it  made  for  Elijah  Bentley  a  most  effective 
screen  as  he  plied  his  unlawful  trade,  back 
under  the  cavity  and  behind  the  Falls. 

Others  were  raided ;  others  still  grew  restless 
and  uneasy  and  finally  moved  away  or  gave  up 
the  business  as  one  too  full  of  risks ;  to  old 
Bentley,  however,  danger  seemed  a  thing  not  to 
be  feared. 

Secure  indeed  did  he  feel  as  he  sat  behind 
the  watery  veil  and  smoked  his  after-dinner 
pipe  to  the  music  of  the  hounds,  in  open  pack 
in  the  cove  below.  Yet  the  illicit  establishment 
was  doomed,  despite  old  Bentley's  feeling  of 
security. 

One  night  he  sat  smoking  on  the  doorstep  of 
his  cabin,  a  half-mile  distant,  waiting  for  his  sup- 
per, which  his  old  mother-in-law  was  preparing 
over  the  fire  of  logs  and  pine  knots  blazing  in 
the  great  black-mouthed  fireplace.  The  blaze 


106  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

lent  an  air  of  comfort  to  the  room  despite  ite 
scant  proportions  and  coarse  furnishings.  A  pot 
swung  from  an  iron  hook  over  the  fire ;  a  skillet 
with  cover  surmounted  by  a  heap  of  glowing 
coals  occupied  one  corner  of  the  capacious 
hearth,  while  a  griddle  from  the  other  side  sent 
up  savory  odors  of  broiling  bacon.  An  old 
woman,  wearing  a  short  petticoat  of  homespun, 
was  flitting  here  and  there  over  the  hearth. 
Yet,  while  she  made  all  possible  haste,  the  man 
on  the  doorstep  grumbled  and  growled  and 
swore  under  his  breath,  and  wondered  "  how 
long  he  would  be  getting  his  grub." 

He  was  a  rough  looking  man,  tall,  with 
shoulders  square  enough  to  have  borne  the 
burdens  of  life  honestly,  without  resort  to  un- 
lawful callings.  A  beard,  rough  and  unkempt, 
covered  his  face  and  lost  itself  in  the  masses  of 
uncut  hair  that  fell  about  his  ears  and  eyes.  He 
wore  boots  of  stout  calfskin  that  reached  to  his 
knees  and  there  received  the  brown  jeans  panta- 
loons tucked  into  their  capacious  tops,  against 
the  dust  and  dews  of  the  mountain  walks.  His 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  107 

waist  was  encircled  by  a  broad  leather  belt,  into 
which  was  thrust  a  pair  of  old-fashioned  horse 
pistols.  A  gun  rested  against  the  wall,  where 
he  had  placed  it  while  waiting  for  his  supper. 

While  he  sat  thus,  smoking  and  grumbling, 
there  came  a  slight,  cautious  stir  among  the 
laurel  bushes  outside. 

"  Hist !" 

He  cautioned  the  old  woman  to  silence,  while 
his  keen  eye  peered  into  the  shadowy  growth, 
his  fingers  fumbling  for  the  pistols  at  his  belt. 
The  next  moment  two  stalwart  figures  emerged 
from  the  shadow  and  cautiously  approached 
within  radius  of  the  firelighted  doorway.  Bent- 
ley  muttered  a  low  growl. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  slipping  the  weapon  hur- 
riedly back  into  its  place,  "  ain't  you  two  bright 
ones  !  Come  slippin'  up  here  like  a  pair  o'  horse 
thieves.  I  like  ter  put  a  bullet  into  your  heads. 
Ain't  you  got  no  sense,  slippin'  up  to  my  house 
at  night  in  sech  a  manner?  Didn't  you  know 
I'd  shoot  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  told  Jake,"  said  one  of  the 


108  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

men,  a  middle-aged  man  with  smoothly  shaven 
face,  and  hair  of  thin  iron  gray.  "  I  allowed  we'd 
just  better  step  up,  so.  But  Jake  he  allowed  dif- 
ferent. He  allowed  as  revenuers  always  tried 
that  dodge,  and  we'uns  had  better  be  keerful. 
That's  what  Jake  allowed." 

"  Jake  be  blowed,"  said  Bentley.  "  That  thar 
red  head  o'  his  ain't  stuffed  none  too  full  o' 
sense,  as  I  can  see.  You  little  chicken — " 

"  Let  up  thar,  will  you !"  The  challenge  rang 
out  from  beardless  lips,  yet  the  hardened  old 
sinner  quailed  for  an  instant,  and  instinctively 
felt  for  the  pistol  at  his  belt.  "  Drap  that !"  com- 
manded the  same  voice.  "  I  ain't  afeard  o'  you, 
Lige  Bentley,  an'  you  can't  skeer  me,  neither. 
If  I  aim  ter  come  here  friendly  I  allow  I  have 
the  right ;  if  I  choose  ter  come  keerful,  'stead  o' 
makin'  a  targit  o'  my  figur  for  every  chance 
raider  hid  in  the  brush,  I  reckon  I  have  that 
right.  Now  you  hold  you  jaw ;  reckerlect  thar's 
them  can  shoot  as  peart,  an'  may  be  as  true,  as 
you,  with  all  your  braggin'.  Set  back  thar, 
will  you?" 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  109 

Bentley  dropped  back  into  his  seat  silently. 
The  old  woman,  meanwhile,  had  hurried  the 
supper  on  the  table.  She  knew  better  than  to 
interfere  with  her  son's  quarrels,  yet  she  under- 
stood something  of  the  art  of  interference  in  a 
peaceable  way,  too.  She  stepped  to  the  door, 
as  seemingly  unconcerned  as  though  she  had 
heard  nothing  of  the  disturbance. 

"Supper's  on  the  table,  Lige,"  she  said. 
•'  You-uns  can  come  an'  eat  it." 

Bentley.  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and 
laid  it  upon  the  water  shelf.  He,  too,  had  de- 
cided to  ignore  the  fuss.  The  quick-headed 
mountaineer,  Underwood,  allowed  his  gun  to 
slip  through  the  palms  of  his  hands  until  the 
stock  rested  upon  his  boot.  Bentley  understood 
that  hostilities  were  withdrawn ;  he  stood  aside 
and  motioned  the  visitors  to  enter.  The  younger 
acted  as  spokesman.  He  was  beardless  Jake 
Underwood,  a  partner  in  the  illicit  still. 

"  We-uns  have  had  our  supper,"  said  he, 
"  but  we'll  wait  out  here  till  you  swallow  yours, 
an'  then  we'll  walk  back  ter  the  still  with  you." 


110  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

They  both  carried  guns,  and  under  their  belts 
the  occasional  glimmer  of  .a  blade  was  visible 
when  the  firelight  fell  upon  their  stalwart  fig- 
ures. Desperadoes  both,  yet  there  was  about 
the  younger  of  the  two,  a  something  softer 
than  the  exterior  warranted,  when  he  glanced  at 
the  old  woman  ;  or  sometimes  when  he  spoke  to 
the  boy,  Joe,  who  hauled  the  fruit  to  the  cave 
and  did  other  odd  jobs  at  the  command  of  his 
father,  Bentley.  The  two  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow  and  waited  ;  conversing,  if  at  all,  in  whis- 
pers that  did  not  reach  the  ear  of  Bentley,  who  sat 
down,  thankless  and  sullen,  to  his  supper  of  bacon 
and  dry  beans,  and  fell  again  to  grumbling. 

He  ate,  not  ravenously,  but  so  rapidly  that 
his  eating  had  the  appearance  of  greed.  Finally 
he  stopped,  and,  looking  over  his  half-lifted 
knife,  said  to  his  mother  : 

"Whar's  Joe?" 

The  old  woman  answered  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling : 

"  Joey  allowed  he  didn't  want  any  supper," 
said  she. 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  111 

"  Wliar  is  he  ?"  said  Bentley.  "  Answer  a 
plain  question,  if  you're  able.  If  you  ain't, 
I'll  set  about  seein'  if  I  can  find  him." 

The  old  grandmother  endeavored  to  appear 
indifferent. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  she,  "  if  you  air  bent  on 
knowin'  where  he  is,  why,  he's  in  the  loft.  The 
child  ware  took  with  misery  in  his  head,  an'  he 
ware  that  fagged  I  let  him  go  up  the  ladder  and 
rest  a  bit." 

"  '  Rest !'  "  sneered  Bentley.  "  An'  what's  he 
been  a-doin'  of  to  be  needin'  rest,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  He'd  better  hurry  up  an'  fetch  that 
load  of  apples  to  the  Blue  Spring;  that's  the 
kind  o'  restin'  he  better  be  up  ter.  If  them 
apples  ain't  thar  by  sun  up  I'll  engage  ter  take 
the  mis'ry  out  o'  his  head  an'  put  it  in  his  back. 
You  can  tell  him  that  with  my  compl'mints." 

He  ate  on,  greedily,  as  animals  eat ;  to  satisfy 
their  hunger,  without  a  thought  of  thanksgiving 
or  a  throb  of  gratitude.  At  length  he  called  to 
the  men  upon  the  doorstep : 

"  Bill,"  said  he,  "  what's  stirrin'  at  the  still  ?" 


112  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

The  man  shuffled  uneasily. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  aimed  to  tell  you  as  we 
walked  back." 

"  But  I  aims  to  know  now,"  said  Bentley,  in 
a  tone  which  proclaimed  the  brawny  distiller 
lord  of  his  domain.  His  henchmen  evidently 
recognized  his  power  and  respected  it. 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  addressed  as  Bill,  "  I 
ain't  heard  nothin'  partic'lar  stirrin'  ter  the 
still,  but  over  at  Jube  Jarvis's  store  'Lihu 
Hudgins  allowed  it  ware  gittin'  pretty  hot  for 
distillin'  in  these  parts." 

"  So  it  be,"  said  Bentley ;  "  any  baby  could 
tell  you  that.  Pretty  tolerble  hot  for  them  as 
don't  kiver  up  their  tracks." 

"An',"  continued  Bill,  "  Bud  Dawsoii's  was 
raided  to-night." 

"I  allowed  he  would  be,"  said  the  moun- 
taineer, nothing  daunted,  as  he  emptied  his 
glass  of  cider.  "  He  let  every  sort,  go  to  his 
place  with  no  more  guaranty  than  a  promise 
not  to  tell  whar  it  ware  hid;" 

"An',"  said  Bill,   "some   boys   over  in   the 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  113 

cove  sent  word  to  us  to-night  to  lie  low.     Some 
of  our  boys." 

Instantly  the  moonshiner  pushed  back  his 
chair,  rose,  gathered  his  gun  in  his  brown 
hands  and  joined  the  men  on  the  outside. 
Silently  the  three  fell  into  step,  and  with  long, 
hasty  strides  crossed  the  yard,  keeping,  from 
habit,  close  under  the  shadow  of  the  gaunt  old 
cedars  that  studded  the  little  enclosure.  Half- 
way across  Bentley  stopped,  and  called  back  to 
the  woman  in  the  cabin  : 

"  Tell  that  thar  youngster  to  be  at  the  Rain- 
bow with  that  thar  load  o'  apples  by  sun  up  if 
he  wants  to  save  his  hide  an'  tallow." 

Was  it  fancy  or  did  something  stir  in  the 
laurel,  further  back,  beyond  the  cedars  ?  Was 
it  a  footstep  creeping  back  into  the  denser 
shadow  ?  A  figure  of  a  man  ?  Another  and 
another,  cowering  under  the  thick  stunted 
growth  ?  Was  it  the  glitter  of  a  rifle  that  flashed 
for  a  moment  across  the  little  clearing,  disappear- 
ing in  the  laurel  thicket  ?  The  distillers  paused, 
held  their  breath  a  moment  and  passed  on. 
8 


114  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"A  rabbit,  I  reckin,"  said  Bentley. 

"  Sounds  mightily  like  a  step,"  said  Jake 
Underwood.  "  Yes,  sir,  like  half  a  dozen  of 
'em,"  he  added,  with  a  low,  mirthless  laugh. 

"  Shut  up,  will  you  ?"  said  Bentley.  "  You 
air  enough,  betwixt  you,  to  give  a  fellow  the 
aguy.  Takin'  fright  at  a  rabbit,  an'  such. 
Wonder,  now,  if  you  wouldn't  run  from  a 
mouse  ?" 

The  men  offered  no  further  opinion.  After 
all,  they  stood  in  a  sort  of  terror  of  Bentley  that 
cowed  them  and  at  the  same  time  quieted  their 
fears  of  other  dangers.  There  was  a  kind  of 
bravado  about  him  which  they  mistook  for 
courage,  as  people  of  their  class  and  circum- 
stances are  wont  to  do. 

Only  the  old  woman  they  had  left  in  the 
cabin  was  not  deceived  by  it.  There  was  an 
innate  integrity  about  her  that  shone  out  and 
scintillated  even  in  the  den  into  which  fate  had 
cast  her.  Not  for  one  instant  did  she  mistake 
Bentley's  braggadocio  and  foolhardiness  for 
bravery.  She  had  seen  courage,  and  was  ready 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  115 

to  recognize  it  always.  Truly,  fate  had  decreed 
her  hard  lines,  but  she  considered  if  only  she 
could  make  the  difference  plain  to  the  young 
lad  sleeping  in  the  loft  over-head,  she  would  not 
count  her  life  wholly  vain. 

"  He's  a  good  boy,  Joe  is,"  she  said,  as  she 
set  away  the  remnants  of  the  supper.  "  He's  a 
good  boy  an'  I  aims  to  teach  him  the  rights  an' 
wrongs  o'  things,  if  the  good  Lord  spares  me." 

She  stepped  to  the  cabin  door,  to  listen  for 
any  sound  of  loitering  footsteps.  Once  she 
fancied  something  stirred  ;  a  shadow  crossed  the 
yard  ;  and  a  moment  later  the  sound  of  cautious 
footsteps  scrambling  down  the  bluff  in  the  rear 
of  the  house. 

"  A  deer,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  or  else  some 
o'  the  settlement  boys  takjn'  the  secret  path  to 
the  still-house.  How  I  do  hate  that  thar  path. 
It's  mighty  nigh  been  the  ruin  o'  me  and  mine." 

When  all  was  still  again  she  tip-toed  to  the 
ladder  leading  to  the  loft,  placed  her  hands 
upon  the  lower  rungs  and  began  to  mount. 

The  window   shutter   stood   wide  open,   and 


116  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

through  it  the  moonlight  fell  in  broad,  silver 
patches  upon  the  floor.  By  its  light  she 
found  the  pallet  in  the  corner,  under  the  low 
eaves,  and  stood  a  moment  gazing  down  upon 
the  thin,  brown  face  of  the  young  sleeper  lying 
there  among  the  quilts  her  hands  had  fashioned. 
Then,  kneeling,  she  touched  him  lightly  upon 
the  shoulder.  The  weary  fellow  did  not  move ; 
he  was  sound  asleep,  utterly  exhausted.  The 
grandmother  laid  her  hand  upon  his  head, 
pushing  back  the  heavy  masses  of  hair  from 
the  smooth,  hot  forehead.  He  stirred  at  the 
gentle  touch,  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  What  is  it,  granny  ?"  he  asked  ;  "  is  any- 
thing the  matter  at  the  still  ?" 

"  Anything  at  the  still  ?"  That  was  the  bur- 
den of  his  days  and  of  hers ;  the  fear  that  lay 
ever  upon  their  hearts,  chilling  the  warm  flow  of 
life. 

"  No,  thar  ain't  anything  as  I  knows  on.  I 
come  to  see  if  maybe  you  couldn't  eat  a  bite, 
son.  I  have  kept  it  back,  a  nice  supper  for  you, 
warm  in  the  oven." 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  117 

"  No'm,"  said  Joe,  "  I  ain't  hungry  to-night. 
I  just  allowed  I'd  rest  some  before  time  to  haul 
the  apples.  I  ware  that  tired,  looked  like  I 
couldn't  move." 

Again  the  worn  old  hand  caressed  the  dark 
head  tenderly. 

"  I  know  it,  son.  I  know  you  air  tired.  You're 
worked  to  death  mighty  nigh.  Granny'd  help 
you  if  she  could.  I  don't  want  to  rob  you  of 
your  rest,  but  it's  kinder  lonesome-like  down- 
stairs, an'  I  feel  sort  o'  cur'us  about  the  still. 
Sornehows  I  can't  make  out  to  rest  for  thinkin' 
about  it.  The  hounds  have  been  howlin'  awful, 
too.  I'd  allowed  maybe  as  your  pappy's  gone 
you'd  let  me  fix  you  a  pallet  down  thar  an' 
you'd  take  your  rest  as  well  maybe,  before  the 
warm  fire." 

Instantly  Joe  rose,  leaning  heavily  upon  one 
elbow ;  he  was  weary  and  sick,  yet  the  first  hint 
of  her  need  of  him  was  enough  to  arouse  him 
to  an  effort  to  please  her.  His  head  ached,  and 
there  was  a  thumping  in  his  ears  like  the  thun- 
dering of  the  Blue  Creek  over  the  bluff  on  a 


118  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

stormy  night.  Half-way  down  the  ladder  he 
tottered  and  caught  at  the  hand  put  out  to  stay 
him. 

"  Air  the  mis'ry  that  bad,  son  ?"  his  grand- 
mother asked,  with  anxious  voice. 

"  It's  pretty  bad,"  said  Joe,  as  he  sank  in  a 
chair  and  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands. 

For  a  brief  moment  the  two  were  silent ;  they 
were  very  dear  to  each  other,  the  old  woman 
and  the  young  boy,  understanding  each  other's 
needs  and  sharing  each  other's  hardships.  A 
similar  fate  had  fostered  in  them  similar  sym- 
pathies. 

"  Granny,"  said  Joe,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  sometimes  I  almost  think  it  ain't  worth  while 
to  try."  • 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  startled  expres- 
sion in  the  faded  old  eyes,  yet  all  she  said  was : 

"  Joey !"  in  that  wounded,  hurt  way  that 
never  failed  to  appeal  to  him. 

"  I  don't  mean  as  I  ain't  goin'  to  try,"  said 
Joe.  "  For  your  sake,  granny,  I  am  goin'  to 
keep  on,  but  I  reckon  it  air  all  for  your  sake." 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  119 

"  An'  for  your  own,  son,"  said  granny.  "A 
boy  must  always  do  the  best  that's  in  him  for 
his  own  sake  ;  for  the  sake  of  his  conscience  an' 
his  hereafter.  Always  remember  that,  son; 
thar's  that  to  be  endured  an'  done  always  for 
the  sake  o'  them  that  love  us,  or  that  we-uns 
love ;  an'  thar's  something  must  be  done  for  a 
body's  own  sake.  We  have  got  to  make  the 
best  of  what  the  good  Lord  gives  us." 

She  always  quieted  and  encouraged  him  by 
her  quiet  forbearance  and  unswerving  faith,  yet 
the  way  seemed  rough  indeed  to  the  overworked 
boy. 

"  I  don't  appear  to  have  much  chance,"  he 
said  with  a  sigh.  "  Just  no  showin'  at  all." 

The  old  woman  got  up  and  began  gathering 
the  pillows  off  a  bed  that  stood  in  a  corner  of 
the  room ;  then  she  spread  a  black  bearskin  be- 
fore the  fire  and  proceeded  to  lay  the  pillows 
upon  it,  making  a  warm,  comfortable  pallet. 
Once  she  paused  in  her  work  and  looking  at  the 
listless  figure  in  the  chair,  said  : 

"  I  reckon  we-uns  don't  always  know  what  a 


120  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

chance  may  be  when  we  see  it.  I  see  a  lily 
once,  growin'  in  a  mud  hole — " 

Joe  said  nothing,  yet  the  beauty  of  the 
thought  was  not  wholly  lost  upon  him.  When 
the  pallet  was  ready  he  stretched  himself  upon 
it,  and  lay  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  fire,  thinking 
of  the  lily,  while  his  grandmother  plied  her 
knitting  needles.  After  a  long  silence  he  said, 
dreamily,  as  though  unconscious  he  was  speak- 
ing: 

"  Some  one  must  a-dropped  a  seed  thar,  I 
reckon." 

"  Whar  ?"  said  granny  ;  she  had  forgotten 
about  the  lily. 

"  Why,  in  the  mud  hole,"  said  Joe.  "  Some 
one  must  a-dropped  a  seed  thar,  an'  the  lily 
come  of  it,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  else  the 
winds  fetched  it.  Anyhow,  it  was  thar,  an' 
growin'  pretty  as  you  ever  see,  spick  an'  span 
an'  clean,  as  though  it  was  h'isted  on  top  of  the 
bigges'  mountain  hereabouts.  I  ware  plumb 
pleased  to  see  it ;  it  ware  like  a  sermout, 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  121 

mighty  nigh.  An'  it  almost  seemed  to  say  it 
could  keep  itself  clean  spite  of  the  mud  about 
it.  I  always  think  of  that  lily  when  I  see  you- 
uns  drug  off  to  that  thar  hole  in  the  bluff  whar 
the  laws  of  the  State  air  broke,  and  the  laws  oj 
God  A'mighty  trompled  under  foot." 

As  the  heat  struck  through  the  boy's  chilled 
and  thinly  clad  body,  and  the  warm  blood  be- 
gan to  circulate  more  quickly,  the  pain  in  his 
head  became  less  severe,  his  languor  disap- 
peared and  Joe  began  to  talk  more  freely. 

"  Granny,"  said  he,  "  guess  what  I  done  to- 
day?" 

"I  dunno  what  you  done  to-day,"  said 
granny,  "  but  I  know  you  works  too  steady ; 
that's  what  I  know." 

"  This  wasn't  work,"  said  Joe.  "  It  was  just 
fun.  I  made  a  latch  for  the  big  gate,  that  will 
open  and  shut  for  a  touch.  I  made  it  up  myse'f ; 
all  out  of  my  own  head.  Jube  Jarvis,  from 
the  settlement,  stopped  to  see  it  as  he  ware 
passin',  and  let  on  as  how  I  might  get  a  patent 
for  it  if  I  ware  minded  to  try.  I  ain't  carin'  for 


122  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

no  patent ;  all  I  care  for  is  makin'  the  thing 
up." 

"  You  air  workin'  too  steady,"  insisted 
granny.  "  When  I  see  you  bendin'  over  that 
thai*  chist,  so  happy  an'  contented  it  makes  you 
forgit  you  air  tired,  I  knows  you  air  workin'  too 
steady  an'  a-killin'  of  yourse'f." 

Joe's  eyes  flashed  for  an  instant : — 

"  Does  it  make  you  feel  any  better  to  see  me 
haulin'  apples  to  a  wildcat  still  before  daybreak 
of  a  mornin'  ?"  said  he.  "  I  tell  you,  granny, 
when  I  mount  that  thar  cart  an'  sneak  off 
through  the  woods,  snake-like,  in  the  shadow,  I 
feel  like  a  thief.  But  when  I'm  at  that  chist, 
I  plumb  forget  the  still,  an'  the  smell  of  the 
b'ilin'  liquor,  an'  the  crunchin'  of  apples  in  the 
mill.  I  forget  ole  Kit  an'  the  wagiu'  creepin' 
along  under  the  dark  of  the  trees.  I  forget 
ev'rything  but  the  things  beggin'  of  me  to  make 
'em ;  to  turn  'em  out  with  my  tools.  I'll  do  it 
some  day,  granny ;  you'll  see." 

The  old  woman  listened,  pleased  in  spite  of 
herself.  She  had  always  felt  as  if  the  boy  were 


THE  MOOXSHTNER'S  HOME  123 

indeed  her  own  since  the  day  his  dying  mother 
had  given  him  into  her  keeping,  begging  her  as 
far  as  possible  to  shield  him  from  his  father. 
Bentley  had  dragged  the  boy  into  service  when 
he  was  too  small,  indeed,  to  do  more  than  gather 
up  the  apples  from  under  the  trees  in  the 
orchard.  Yet,  drudge  though  he  was,  Joe 
worked  with  tolerable  patience  so  long  as  he 
was  permitted,  at  odd  hours,  the  use  of  the  tools, 
which,  with  the  help  of  Jube  Jarvis  he  had 
been  able  to  collect.  And,  indeed,  it  was  not 
the  work  itself,  but  the  nature  of  the  work  that  he 
objected  to  at  the  still.  He  was  ignorant  of  the 
great  mysterious  law  of  conscience ;  yet,  in  the 
heart  of  the  lonely  boy  among  the  hills  of  Ten- 
nessee, conscience,  that  defier  of  circumstance 
and  of  conditions,  had  made  for  herself  an 
abode. 

The  fire  burned  low  in  the  black  fireplace  ;  the 
flickering  blaze  cast  shadows,  fitful  and  unreal, 
upon  the  face  pressed  against  the  pillow ;  the 
great  logs  fell  apart;  the  grandmother's  knitting 
needles  no  longer  clicked  ;  only  the  low  breath- 


124  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

ing  of  the  sleeping  boy  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
room.  Then  the  baying  of  a  hound,  far  away 
in  a  copse  below,  sounded  upon  the  night; 
nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  old  grandmother 
awoke  with  a  start  and  began  to  knit  vigorously 
for  a  moment,  in  the  dark.  Then,  fully  awake, 
she  called  softly  : — 

"  Joey  ?  Air  you'uns  asleep,  son  ?" 
"  No'm,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  ware  noddin' 
some,  but  the  hound  woke  me  up.  I  ware  lyin' 
here  thinkin'  about  that  last  time  I  druv  ole 
Kit  ter  the  still.  I  ware  not  right  gentle  with 
her,  I  reckon.  Poor  ole  Kitty  ;  her  an'  me 
have  had  some  tolerable  hard  licks  I'm  thinkin.' 
"  The  last  time  I  druv  her  over  to  the  Blue 
Spring  with  a  load  of  apples  she  appeared  poorly; 
leastways  she  wouldn't  go  fast  enough  to  pleas- 
ure me,  who  ware  honin'  to  get  back  to  that 
tool  chist.  So  I  just  lit  off  that  thar  load  an' 
cut  a  poplar  saplin',  thinkin'  to  tetch  her  up  a 
bit.  But  the  first  lick  I  give  her  the  critter 
turned  an'  give  me  such  a  look!  My  !  my  !  I 
can't  ever  furgit  that  look.  I  just  turned  an' 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  125 

flung  that  tliar  saplin'  over  the  bluff  an'  asked 
ole  Kit's  pardon  like  a  man.  I  couldn't  for  the 
life  of  me,  granny,  help  thinkin'  o'  that  other 
mule  critter  the  parson  told  about  over  at 
meetin'  onc't.  The  one  as  turned  round  an' 
talked  to  the  prophet  as  was  tryin'  to  drive  her 
into  the  wrong  place.  My  !  how  that  thar  hound 
do  bark ;  he  must  a-treed  somethiu  V 

Ah  !  had  he  known,  had  he  guessed,  what  it 
was  the  old  dog  had  "  treed,"  he  would  not  have 
been  lying  there  dreaming  in  the  semi-dark- 
ness with  that  contented  look  upon  his  face, 
as  he  talked  of  Balaam  and  his  ass.  The  fire 
died  in  the  big  fireplace ;  the  room  grew  dark. 
The  boy  dropped  to  sleep  again,  and  the  grand- 
mother stole  off  to  her  bed  in  the  corner.  It  was 
still  dark  when  Joe  awoke  and  slipped  noise- 
lessly out  the  door.  As  he  laid  the  gear  upon 
the  mule's  back,  he  said : 

"  I  hope  thar  ain't  many  more  loads  like  this 
for  you  an'  me,  Kitty."  He  paused.  Far  away 
to  the  east  a  faint  red  flush  streaked  the  sky ; 
young  birds  were  chirruping  in  their  nests;  the 


126  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

gorge,  wrapped  in  its  mantle  of  mist,  bluer  than 
the  blue  heavens  at  noonday,  lay  at  his  feet ;  the 
spell  of  the  place  and  the  hour  was  upon  him. 

"  I  wish,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  to  heaven  this 
ware  the  last  trip ;  the  very  last,  for  you  an' 
me.  I  wish  that  thar  fog  would  never  have  to 
hide  me  from  the  eye  of  man  again.  I  wish 
it!" 

Did  the  mists  laugh  ?  Was  the  breath  of  the 
old  beast  against  his  cheek  an  "  amen !"  to  that 
rash  but  fervent  wish  ?  For  a  moment  Joe  was 
almost  startled. 

"  It  sounded  like  a  prayer  almost,"  said  he. 
Then  he  bounded  lightly  to  the  mule's  back,  a 
mode  of  riding  common  among  the  young  driv- 
ers of  those  mountain  carts,  and  chirruped  softly. 
But  instantly  he  dropped  the  lines,  and,  stretch- 
ing himself  almost  flat  upon  the  mule's  back, 
craned  forward  in  an  effort  to  pierce  the  mists. 
Something  was  coming  up  the  secret  trail ;  foot- 
steps, and  voices  without  any  attempt  at  silence 
or  concealment.  Frightened,  startled  as  he  was, 
Joe  thought  of  the  hound  whose  baying  he  had 


THE  MOONSHINER'S  HOME  127 

heard  in  the  night,  and  at  the  same  moment 
there  flashed  through  his  memory  a  recollection 
of  his  own  rash  wish  that  this  might  be  his  last 
trip  to  the  still  under  the  bluff. 

With  scarcely  a  breath  he  slipped  from  the 
mule's  back,  as  the  steps  came  nearer  and  the 
voices  became  more  distinct.  Instantly  he  knew 
the  secret  trail  was  a  secret  no  longer ;  some- 
thing whispered  him  the  old  law-breaking  days 
were  over  and  done  with ;  yet,  the  moment  had 
its  terrors,  its  dangers.  Scarcely  daring  to 
breathe,  he  crouched  low  upon  his  face  under 
the  mule's  belly,  while  the  officers  passed  so 
near  he  could  have  put  out  his  hand  and  touched 
them. 

Thank  God  for  the  mists,  the  friendly  mists, 
hiding  him,  indeed,  for  "the  last  time  "from 
the  eye  of  man  ! 


CHAPTER  VI 

BEHIND  THE  RAINBOW  FALLS 

AMONG  the  shadows  of  the  laurel,  scarcely 
fifty  feet  from  Bentley's  door,  two  figures  had 
been  crouching  for  hours.  At  last  the  cabin 
door  opened,  and  another  figure,  a  big  burly 
mountaineer,  stood  a  moment  in  the  lighted 
doorway  before  dropping  down  upon  the  step, 
to  smoke  his  pipe  and  wait  grumblingly  for  his 
supper. 

The  moon  shone  resplendent,  but  it  was  the 
firelight  behind  his  big,  broad  back  that  made 
distinct  the  figure  upon  the  doorstep.  One  of 
the  watchers  in  the  brush  touched  the  sleeve  of 
his  companion : 

"That's  him,"  he  whispered,  "that's  Bent- 
ley  himself.  He  is  at  home  for  his  supper,  I 
dare  say." 

"  Then,"  whispered  the  other,  "  we  had  as  well 
128 


BEHIND    THE    RAINBOW    FALLS  129 

go  on ;  queer  the  chief  lost  that  diagram,  but 
Jackson  said  he  could  lead  the  others  to  the 
spot  if  you  could  direct  me ;  can  you  do  it, 
Combs?" 

"  No,  not  by  moonlight.  I  thought  I  could, 
but  I  am  all  turned  around  to-night.  We  must 
just  trail  the  old  beast  to  his  lair ;  that's  all  we 
can  do.  But  there's  the  boy  Grim  mentioned, 
we  mustn't  forget  to  look  out  for  him.  I  haven't 
seen  any  boy  ;  have  you  ?" 

"  No,  but  Jackson  saw  one  at  the  store  several 
times  while  he  was  out  reconnoitring.  He 
thinks  it  might  be  the  one  we  are  after.  In 
fact  Grim  intimated  as  much." 

"  Said  he  was  '  sharp  as  a  briar,'  too.  Hush  ! 
some  one  is  coming." 

There  were  cautious  steps  among  the  shadows 
on  the  other  side  of  the  lighted  clearing  before 
the  door.  A  moment  later  two  other  figures 
advanced  stealthily  toward  the  figure  upon  the 
step. 

"  His  confederates,"  whispered  Combs. 
"Must  have  gotten  wind  of  the  raid  on  Daw- 
9 


130  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

son  ;  sh-h,  lie  low  there!     They  are  quarreling 
about  something.     Listen." 

They  crouched  closer  to  the  earth,  fairly 
hugging  the  ground,  as  the  moon  climbed  higher 
in  the  heavens  and  the  laurels  became  more  and 
more  insecure.  From  the  doorstep  came  the 
sound  of  voices,  guarded  but  angry;  evidently 
the  old  distiller  and  his  confederates  were  not 
on  the  best  of  terms  this  evening.  After  awhile 
the  older  man  got  up  and  went  in  to  his  supper 
while  the  others  waited  outside.  The  chief's 
deputies  waited  also,  crouched  among  the 
shadows,  afraid  to  stir  lest  some  stray  moonbeam 
should  direct  the  eyes  of  the  wary  distillers  to 
their  hiding  place.  At  last  Bentley  pushed  back 
his  chair  and,  shouldering  his  gun,  joined  the 
men  on  the  doorstep,  and  the  three  passed  like 
shadows  across  the  little  moonlighted  yard,  dis- 
appearing down  the  secret  trail  to  the  still.  The 
shadows  among  the  laurel  arose  and  followed 
without  the  slightest  hesitation  ;  although  they 
understood  they  might  at  any  moment  step  into 
some  trap  set  for  their  undoing. 


SHOT  FOLLOWED  SHOT 
(Page  136) 


BEHIND    THE    RAINBOW    FALLS  131 

They  had  walked  for  nearly  a  mile  when  the 
tramp  suddenly  ended.  There  was  a  sound  of 
water ;  a  rich,  round  gurgle  at  first,  and  softened 
by  distance  ;  then  as  they  drew  nearer,  the  full, 
round  roar  of  the  cataract  tumbling  from  the 
bluff.  The  next  moment  they  saw  it,  a  sheet  of 
white,  a  dash  of  frothy  silver  in  the  moonlight, 
against  which  the  figures  of  the  three  distillers 
stood  out  like  giant  silhouettes.  There  was  no 
necessity  for  whispering  now,  the  cataract 
drowned  all  other  sounds. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  Combs.  "  The  still 
is  directly  here,  somewhere.  Don't  take  your 
eye  off  those  men  for  an  instant ;  watch  that  big 
fellow  there ;  that's  Bentley,  you  know.  Don't 
lose  sight  of  them — " 

Did  the  earth  open  and  swallow  them? 
Without  one  step  from  the  spot  on  which  they 
were  standing,  seemingly  without  one  step  for- 
ward, the  distillers  had  disappeared.  The 
deputies  clutched  each  other  in  silence ;  they 
were  so  close  that  each  could  hear  the  breathing 
of  the  other  above  the  noise  of  the  cataract. 


132  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

What  had  become  of  the  distillers  ?  This  was 
the  question  trembling  upon  their  lips,  when  a 
hand  reached  from  the  shadow  and  tapped  Combs 
upon  the  shoulder  lightly.  "  Be  quiet,"  said 
the  chief's  voice,  "  and  step  further  back  into 
the  shadow.  The  boys  are  back  here.  The  dis- 
tillers are  behind  that  waterfall.  How  they  got 
there  is  the  question  we  are  trying  to  decide. 
Jackson  is  over  there  now  trying  to  find  the 
entrance  to  the  cave;  for  evidently  there  is  a 
cave  back  there." 

They  stepped  back  into  the  denser  shadows, 
near  enough,  however,  to  keep  watch  on  the 
waterfall  in  case  the  law-breakers  should  leave 
before  the  plans  for  attack  should  be  perfected. 
The  chief  peered  into  the  brake  more  than  once 
to  ascertain  if  the  brave  young  deputy  might 
be  in  sight.  At  last  he  came,  his  finger  upon 
his  lips,  motioning  silence.  The  posse  drew 
their  Leads  together  and  listened  while  he  ex- 
plained the  situation  of  the  cascade  and  its 
curiously  hidden  cave.  "  There  is  a  cascade 
above,"  said  he;  "a  long,  swift  current  that 


BEHIND    THE    RAINBOW    FALLS  133 

tumbles  over  a  jagged  rock  bed  before  it  makes 
the  final  plunge  over  the  bluff.  There  is  a  cave 
behind  the  fall ;  the  best  concealed  one  I  ever 
saw.  I  failed  to  find  the  slightest  opening  until 
a  moment  since,  when  the  three  distillers  dropped 
.seemingly  into  the  earth.  There  are  four  or  five 
of  them  in  there,  however,  and  there  is  death 
behind  there  for  somebody.  When  they  disap- 
peared I  searched  the  spot.  All  I  found  was  a 
curious  little  step,  right  into  the  waterfall.  One 
would  suppose  to  step  into  it  would  be  to  go 
down  a  hundred  feet  into  that  still-looking  pool 
of  blackish  water.  I  didn't  see  the  step;  I 
merely  tried  it.  I  thought  if  they  could  take 
it  I  could,  and  I  did.  But  first  I  put  my  ear  to 
the  rocks  above  on  the  left  side  of  the  cave,  and 
I  could  hear  them  talking.  They  are  either 
drinking,  or  else  they  count  upon  the  noise  of 
the  fall  to  drown  their  voices,  for  they  are  evi- 
dently not  trying  to  speak  low.  On  the^  con- 
trary, they  seem  to  be  having  rather  a  good  time. 
The  cave  isn't  deep,  it  is  merely  a  sort  of  hollow, 
a  room  under  the  rocks,  without,  I  believe,  any 


134  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

other  opening  than  the  one  through  the  Fall. 
They  are  tough  old  customers,  and  we  shall 
probably  have  a  tussle  before  we  take  them. 
Bentley  we  will  never  take  alive,  unless  we  take 
him  in  a  drunken  stupor.  I  am  at  your  service, 
sir."  He  turned  to  the  chief  and  lifted  his  hat ; 
he  was  quite  ready  to  beard  the  lion  in  his  lair 
if  his  superior  so  ordered. 

But  the  chief  had  different  plans.  He  drew 
his  men  further  back  into  the  shadow,  but  quite 
near  enough  to  keep  guard  upon  the  entrance  to 
the  cave.  He  had  decided  to  wait  until  mid- 
night to  make  the  attack ;  at  that  time  the  dis- 
tillers would  in  all  probability  be  drunk,  or 
asleep,  and  off  their  guard. 

The  plan  met  with  general  approval. 

"  We  shall  probably  get  the  boy,  too,  by 
waiting,"  said  Jackson.  "  Grim  said  he  gener- 
ally came  over  awhile  after  midnight  to  relieve 
the  others  before  day." 

And  while  they  waited,  the  distillers,  not 
dreaming  that  they  were  caught  like  rats  in  a 
trap,  were  carousing  the  night  away. 


BEHIND    THE   RAINBOW    FALLS  135 

As  the  time  wore  on  the  jug  circulated  freely, 
and  the  big,  red  eye  of  the  furnace  gleamed ;  a 
sullen  gleam  that  lighted  up  the  faces  of  the 
distillers  and  drew  their  silhouettes  as  the  moon 
had  drawn  them,  in  gigantic  black  pictures  upon 
the  wall  of  rocks. 

And  while  the  time  slipped  away  the  one  pass 
to  freedom  was  watched  by  the  old  chief  and  his 
dauntless  young  deputies.  But  the  distillers  were 
too  drunk  to  care  now.  They  sang,  and  drank 
again,  with  only  the  white  foam  of  the  water  be- 
tween them  and  the  despised  "  revernuers."  At 
midnight  the  revel  ended.  One  of  the  men  had 
fallen  asleep  with  his  head  dropped  back  against 
the  rocks.  The  furnace  fire  showed  his  face,  blood 
red  in  the  lurid  glow.  And,  suddenly,  while  the 
young  distiller  slept,  a  strange  form  stepped  down 
into  the  white  spray  of  the  water-fall;  another,  and 
yet  another,  until  there  were  four.  At  last  the 
officers  stood  within  the  long-sought  illicit  work- 
shop of  Elijah  Bentley  and  his  gang.  There  was 
not  a  sound  until  the  chief  clicked  his  weapon 
into  cock  ;  then — the  distillers  turned  and — saw. 


136  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

They  rose,  as  one  man,  and  grasped  their 
guns,  scattered  over  the  floor  of  the  cavern. 
They  gave  no  more  heed  to  the  chiefs  order  to 
surrender  than  they  gave  to  the  cataract  tumb- 
ling from  the  rocks  over  their  heads.  The 
sleeper  over  against  the  wall  suddenly  awoke, 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  fired  recklessly  into  the 
crowd.  The  shot  was  promptly  answered  from 
the  officers,  firing  into  the  air.  For  the 
chief  had  given  orders  that  shooting  should  be 
done  only  for  intimidation  until  orders  were 
given  to  the  contrary;  and  then  only  as  a  matter 
of  defense. 

But  the  moment  the  first  shot  was  fired  the 
distillers  were  wild.  Shot  followed  shot,  mingling 
with  the  rattle  of  falling  stone,  the  roar  of  the 
water,  and  the  chief's  hurried  commands  to 
"surrender."  In  the  midst  of  the  confusion 
the  big,  burly  figure  of  Bentley  pressed  for- 
ward ;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  he  breathed 
like  an  animal,  brought  to  bay.  He  carried  his 
gun,  stock  forward,  as  though  about  to  present 
it  to  the  deputy  standing  nearest  him.  The  men 


BEHIND    THE    RAINBOW    FALLS  137 

fell  slightly  back,  awaiting  the  surrender  of  the 
leader,  when,  quick  as  a  flash,  the  distiller 
whisked  his  weapon  into  position,  and  before  the 
noise  of  the  report  had  ceased  to  vibrate  through 
the  cavern  the  waiting  deputy  fell  forward,  dead. 

Another  shot  instantly  followed,  but  the  wiry 
old  wildcatter  was  too  quick  for  them.  With  a 
cry  of  rage  he  turned  and  leaped  into  the  cata- 
ract. As  he  went  down  the  chief's  bullet  struck 
him,  squarely  between  the  shoulders,  and  a 
moment  later  the  sound  of  his  heavy  body 
striking  the  pool  far  below  could  be  heard 
above  the  confusion. 

In  the  midst  of  the  tumult  some  one  banged 
the  furnace  door  shut  and  the  place  was  in 
darkness,  save  for  the  moonbeams  falling 
through  the  water-curtain,  showing  the  strug- 
gling figures  about  the  cave's  mouth. 

When  the  struggle  ended  the  chief  cast  up 
the  result :  he  had  destroyed  the  still  and  some 
fifteen  barrels  of  brandy.  He  had  a  coat  where 
he  had  expected  to  have  a  prisoner,  the  man 
having  shed  his  garment  and  made  good  his 


138  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

escape.  He  had  wounded  one  man  slightly, 
and  another  unto  death ;  for  Bentley,  he  knew, 
carried  his  death  wound,  if  he  had  not  been 
drowned  in  that  terrible  leap  he  had  made. 
Jackson  carried  a  bullet  in  his  left  arm,  Combs 
had  a  gash  across  his  face,  while  the  fourth 
man  lay  back  behind  the  waterfall,  dead.  The 
chiefs  hat  had  a  bullet  hole  in  the  crown,  show- 
ing how  close  had  been  his  own  danger. 

But  he  was  not  ready  to  give  up  the  battle . 

"  We  must  capture  Bentley,"  said  he.  "  If 
he  is  alive  we  must  carry  him  back  with  us ;  at 
all  events,  we  must  be  sure  he  is  dead.  Those 
fellows  are  merely  hid  out  in  the  woods.  I  am 
going  to  take  one  of  you  boys  with  me  to  the 
settlement.  Grim  said  there  was  a  man  there 
who  had  a  couple  of  fairly  trained  bloodhounds." 

"  Fox  hounds,  captain,"  said  Combs.  "  And 
I  think  you'll  have  a  hard  time  getting  them, 
too.  These  fellows  are  not  any  too  ready  to 
help  run  each  other  down." 

"  He  said,"  said  Jackson,  "  that  they  were 
*  fox  hounds  with  a  blood  streak  in  them,'  and  I 


BEHIND    THE   RAINBOW    FALLS  139 

am  for  getting  them.  If  we  fail  we  will  at  least 
have  a  chance  at  the  boy  Grim  mentioned." 

Reaching  the  settlement,  they  found  they 
needed  ammunition  and  the  chief  ordered  the 
storekeeper  called  up.  Mr.  Jarvis  heard  only 
such  an  account  of  the  raid  as  they  chose  to 
give.  It  was  none  of  his  business,  and  so  he 
asked  no  questions.  Had  he  done  so,  the 
question  burning  in  his  heart,  must  have  sprung 
to  his  lips :  "  Had  they  trapped  Joe  ?  "  The 
question  was  unexpectedly  answered  without  his 
asking  ;  the  chief  had  received  his  ammunition 
and  was  turning  away  when  he  stopped  and 
looked  the  storekeeper  in  the  eye  : 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  a  boy  con- 
nected with  this  business  ?" 

Farewell  to  the  brave  old  boast  of  the  man 
who  "lied  for  nobody."  Had  there  been  a 
moment  for  thought  perhaps  it  might  have  been 
different ;  but  there  was  not.  Yet,  between  the 
officer's  question  and  his  own  reply,  the  store- 
keeper felt  that  he  had  undone  the  principles  of 
a  lifetime.  Truth  to  him  was  not  a  hobby,  but 


140  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

a  grandly  magnificent  principle ;  something 
that  made  radiant  an  humble  and  obscure  life. 
Yet,  to  the  chief's  question  he  replied : 

"  Thar  ain't  any  boy  connected  with  it." 

"  What  boy  was  that  at  the  store  the  other 
day,  some  of  my  men  were  here  ?" 

"  My  boy.  Grim  had  a  grudge  against  him, 
that's  all.  Boy  tried  to  lick  him  once ;  that's 
all  thar  was  to  it." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?' 

"  At  home,  in  bed." 

The  fact  that  it  never  once  occurred  to  the 
officer  to  doubt  him  rendered  the  lie  he  had 
spoken  only  the  more  detestable  to  old  Jube. 
He  felt  that  he  had  not  only  spoken  an  untruth, 
but  that  he  had  betrayed  the  confidence  of  men. 
He  heard  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  galloping  back 
to  the  scene  of  the  late  struggle  ;  there  was  no 
need  of  secrecy  now.  When  the  last  sound  of 
the  hoofs  had  died  away,  down  the  sandy  road, 
the  storekeeper  turned  back  to  the  counter  where 
he  had  lately  stood  with  his  midnight  customers. 
His  face  wore  a  troubled  expression.  "  I  told 


BEHIND   THE    RAINBOW    FALLS  141 

a  lie,"  said  he.  "  A  common  lie."  He  leaned 
upon  the  counter,  his  chin  in  his  palm. 

"  He's  a  little  feller — no  mammy — worse 
than — no  daddy — good  boy —  "  he  spoke  slowly, 
with  long  pauses  between  the  words,  as  though  he 
might  have  been  arguing  the  matter  with  his  con- 
science— "  never  harmed  nothin'  in  the  worF, — 
beset  by  evil  all  the  days  of  his  life —  ;  I  dunho 
— ef  I  done  right  or  no — ,  but  God  A'mighty 
furgive  me  ef  the  lie  ware  wrong." 

And  the  old  storekeeper  dropped  down  upon 
an  upturned  keg,  and  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands  sobbed  as  unreservedly  and  as  bitterly  as 
ever  the  little  ill-treated  stripling,  for  whom 
the  lie  had  been  spoken — asleep  at  that  moment 
in  his  cabin  on  the  bluff — had  wept  for  the 
hardships  of  fate. 

To  him  all  the  props  of  his  character  seemed 
crumbling  about  him,  a  pitiful  wreck.  Truth 
had  been  its  foundation  stone,  and  the  staunch 
old  builder  had  accepted  of  himself  no  com- 
promise for  meaner  material. 

Thus  is  truth  the  foundation  of  all  genuine 
self-respect. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BEST  OF  FRIENDS  MUST  PART 

IT  was  over ;  the  officers  had  passed  by  in  the 
fog,  unseen  and  unseeing.  So  close  had  they 
been  to  the  little  cart  and  its  frightened  driver 
that  they  might  almost  have  heard  the  beating 
of  the  boy's  heart  had  they  stopped  long  enough 
to  listen. 

But  they  had  not  stopped,  and  the  friendly 
mists  had  veiled  both  Joe  and  the  tell-tale  load 
of  apples  until  the  danger  had  passed  by.  When 
the  last  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  had  died  away  in 
the  distance  Joe  crept  out  from  his  hiding  place 
and  began  rapidly  unloading  the  fruit,  by  dump- 
ing it  into  a  huge  trough  from  which  the  hogs 
were  fed.  As  long  as  he  could  remember  he 
had  been  drilled  for  this  very  occasion ;  the 
coming  of  the  revenue  officers.  Yet,  at  the  real 
moment  of  danger  he  never  once  thought  of  his 
142 


THE   BEST    OP    FRIENDS    MUST    PAKT        143 

drilling  ;  his  own  good  sense  told  him  precisely 
what  to  do. 

"They  might  come  back,"  he  whispered, 
patting  as  he  did  so  the  old  mule's  back.  He 
had  long  had  a  habit  of  talking  to  the  mule  ; 
they  two  had  been  so  often  together  upon  that 
solitary  journey  down  the  secret  trail  to  the 
hidden  distillery  that  he  had  come  to  look  upon 
the  old  beast  as  something  almost  human  ;  almost 
a  friend  indeed. 

"  They  might  come  back,  and  we-uns  don't 
want  'em  to  come  up  on  this  here  load,  now,  do 
we  Kitty  ?" 

The  hand  upon  the  mule's  back  trembled  in 
spite  of  the  empty  cart.  In  all  his  life  J.oe  could 
not  remember  to  have  heard  a  horse's  hoof  along 
that  obscure  little  trail,  other  than  old  Kit's. 
That  noisy,  bold  clatter  that  had  just  passed  by 
in  the  gray  fog's  arms  was  ample  assurance  that 
the  path  was  no  longer  a  secret  one. 

He  led  the  old  mule  into  the  barn  and  pulled 
down  an  armful  of  hay. 

"You  did  behave  a  lady,  that's  what  you 


144  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

did,"  he  whispered  in  his  old  friend's  ear. 
"  One  word  from  you-uns  an'  we  wouldn't  be 
here  now,  would  we,  Kitty  ?" 

He  tossed  a  half-dozen  ears  of  corn  into  the 
trough  and  then,  went  out  noiselessly,  glancing 
cautiously  about  him,  lest  the  foe  might  still  be 
lurking  near.  But  all  was  silent  save  the  sound 
of  the  old  mule  munching  the  dry  corn.  Care- 
fully fastening  the  latch  he  picked  his  way 
quickly  to  the  cabin  door,  and  lifting  the  latch 
entered. 

Granny  had  risen  and  was  sitting  over  the 
fireplace  blowing  upon  the  red  embers.  Joe 
knelt  at  her  side  and  mechanically  relieved  her 
of  her  task.  But  before  the  red  blaze  had  be- 
gun to  send  its  little  forked  tongues  in  and  out 
the  cedar  splinters  he  had  told  the  story  of  the 
raid. 

The  old  woman  listened,  trembling  and 
frightened,  offering  no  interruption,  save  an 
occasional  "  I  knowed  it ;"  "  It  was  bound  to 
come  ;"  or  else,  "  I  always  said  it  would  be  so." 

All  the  morning  they  sat  there  in  the  cabin, 


THE   BEST   OF   FRIEXDS    MUST    PART        145 

afraid  to  stir,  waiting,  hoping,  dreading  the 
news  that  must  come.  At  last  graimy  turned 
to  Joe  and  said  : 

"  Hadn't  you-uns  better  slip  down  to  the 
bluff  an'  see  what's  happened,  son  ?" 

"  No,  granny,"  said  Joe.  "  I  don't  do  any 
more  '  slippin' '  round.  I'm  done  with  that. 
If  I  go  to  that  thar  still  I'll  go  open  an'  above- 
board,  same's  anybody  else.  But  I'd  ruther 
die  as  to  go  thar.  I  hope  you  won't  ask  me ; 
oh,  I  hope  you  won't  ask  me,  granny !" 

She  would  not  ask  him  again,  and  so  the  day 
wore  on  to  noon,  and  still  no  tidings  came  of 
the  midnight  raid.  She  would  have  gone  her- 
self had  she  known  positively  that  Bentley  had 
been  taken.  All  her  life  since  the  beginning 
of  the  illicit  establishment  she  had  had  before 
her  a  picture  of  him  lying  dead  and  still  under 
a  jungle  of  mountain  laurel.  Yet  now,  although 
she  dreaded  the  worst,  she  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  believe  that  he  was  really  dead  or  had 
been  taken  prisoner.  And  on  this  account  she 
dared  not  go  to  look  for  him.  Bentley  was  not 
10 


146  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

one  to  be  taken  unawares ;  it  was  more  than 
probable  that  he  was  merely  in  hiding  some- 
where, she  thought,  until  the  danger  should 
have  passed  by.  In  this  event  she  knew  that 
his  anger  would  be  almost  unbearable  should 
she,  by  going  to  seek  him,  bring  upon  him 
some  new  danger.  So  she  sat  there  with  Joe 
in  the  lonely  cabin,  hoping,  fearing — dreading 
always  and  listening  for  the  well-known  step 
upon  the  walk. 

It  had  indeed,  as  Joe  said,  been  "  hard  licks  " 
for  both  the  old  woman  and  her  grandson. 
There  had  not  been  a  day  when  either  of  them 
would  not  have  rejoiced  to  know  the  dull,  dark 
days  were  over.  Blows  for  the  boy,  grumblings 
and  growliugs  for  the  mother ;  that  was  what 
their  life  had  been  since  the  still  was  put  in 
operation.  Yet  neither  of  them  had  thought 
or  hoped  for  such  an  ending  as  they  now  feared 
had  come,  though,  to  be  sure,  they  had  learned 
to  know  long  since  that  it  might  come  at  any 
moment.  The  old  mother,  perhaps  more  than 
the  boy,  had  dreaded  and  expected  it,  yet  it 


THE   BEST    OF    FRIENDS    MUST    PART        147 

held  its  surprise  and  its  sorrow  for  her,  for  al- 
though Bentley  was  rough  and  ungracious  to 
an  extent  that  was  almost  cruel  at  times,  still 
he  was  the  husband  of  her  child,  her  daughter, 
and  nature  was  not  dead  in  her.  Then  she 
fancied  he  would  be  home  by  and  by,  wanting 
his  dinner  and  desperately  angry  should  any- 
thing indeed  have  happened  at  the  still. 

But  the  noon  passed,  and  the  shadows  began 
to  creep  across  the  little  yard  and  lay  upon  the 
doorstep.  Surely  with  the  darkness  he  would 
come,  else  Bill  or  Jerry,  or  some  of  the  others 
would  bring  tidings.  They  could  not  have  all 
been  killed. 

Joe  shared  her  anxiety  to  the  full.  Only  once 
there  had  come  to  him  a  thought  that  the  little 
tool-chest  would  no  longer  have  to  be  hurried 
under  the  bed  at  the  sound  of  a  well-known 
footstep  crunching  the  gravel  outside  the  door. 
But  he  quickly  put  the  thought  aside  as  some- 
thing wicked  at  this  time  of  doubt  and  of 
danger.  Once,  too,  he  remembered  his  wish,  and 
the  answer  that  had  come  like  a  thunderbolt 


148  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

straight  from  the  sky.  It  frightened  him ;  it 
was  as  though  the  intensity  of  his  desire  had 
made  itself  into  a  prayer  which  God  had  thrown 
back  at  him  granted,  but  with  such  fearful  re- 
sults that  the  granting  seemed  a  curse — that 
terrible  wish  that  it  might  be  the  last  time  he 
should  ever  take  the  trip  over  the  secret  trail  to 
the  still  under  the  bluff.  Thinking  of  the  wish 
reminded  him  of  Kit ;  she  had  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  early  morning.  He  got  up  and  went 
out  to  the  barn  ;  the  old  mule  came  to  meet 
him,  rubbing  her  nose  against  his  arm.  With 
sudden  impulse  he  threw  his  arms  around  the 
animal's  neck  and  burst  into  tears. 

His  tears  relieved  him ;  the  long  strain  of 
suspense  had  told  upon  him ;  but  the  old  mule, 
his  companion  in  loneliness,  had  awakened 
within  him  that  spirit  of  courage  natural  to 
boyhood. 

He  returned  to  the  cabin  and  insisted  upon 
helping  granny  to  get  supper.  After  a  simple 
meal  of  broiled  bacon  and  hoecake,  a  potato 
roasted  upon  the  hearth  among  the  ashes,  and  a 


THE    BEST   OF    FRIENDS    MUST    PART        149 

cup  of  steaming  coffee,  the  two  sat  themselves 
down  again  to — wait. 

This  time  they  had  not  long  to  wait.  The 
moonlight  lay  upon  the  gravel  outside,  white  and 
ghostly,  drawing  with  startling  distinctness  the 
figure  of  a  man,  tall  and  gaunt,  skulking  across 
the  yard  to  the  cabin  door.  Without  knocking, 
a  hand  was  lifted  to  the  latch,  the  string  care- 
fully drawn  and  the  frightened  face  of  Jake 
Underwood  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Lifting 
a  finger  for  silence  he  entered  cautiously  and 
drew  the  door  fast  behind  him,  pulling  the  latch- 
string  to  the  inside,  where  it  dangled  lazily  be- 
neath the  wooden  fastening  Joe  had  made  for  it. 

"  I  ware  afeard  some  o'  them  revenuers  might 
be  about,"  Underwood  remarked  by  way  of 
apology. 

Granny  silently  pointed  to  a  chair ;  she  was 
too  frightened  to  speak,  though  she  motioned 
the  man  to  go  on,  knowing  that  he  had  come 
with  news  of  the  raid. 

"  Mis'  Bentley,"  said  the  law-breaker,  "  we- 
uns  have  had  some  mighty  bad  luck  over  to  the 


1-50  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

still.  Me  an'  Bill  had  heard  some  talkin'  an' 
we  come  over  here  last  night  to  warn  Lige.  But 
we  ware  most  too  late."  He  paused,  hesitated, 
then  broke  out  fiercely :  "  I've  got  awful  news 
for  you,  Mis'  Bentley,  awful.  I'd  rather  cut 
my  tongue  out  as  to  tell  you,  but  it's  got  to 
come.  After  me  an'  Lige  an'  Bill  left  here  last 
night  we  went  to  the  still  to  hide  the  liquor 
against  the  revenuers  an'  to  slip  out  o'  sight  our- 
selves if  thar  should  be  any  danger. 

"  When  we  got  thar  everything  looked  that 
safe  an'  secure  we  misdoubted  thar  ware  any 
revenuers  around.  An'  so,  tempted  by  the 
warmth  an'  the  keg  o'  brandy  we  kept  circu- 
lating we  decided  to  stay  thar  an'  take  our 
chances.  It  ware  not  half  hour  until  we  heard 
'em  at  the  very  mouth  o'  the  still.  We  ware 
that  set  back  we  couldn't  move  for  a  minute,  an' 
the  next  minute  ware  too  late.  They  ware  fairly 
upon  us,  though  we  made  a  scramble  for  the 
woods  as  best  we  could.  One  o'  the  boys  left 
his  coat  in  the  officers'  hands,  an'  Lige  carried 
a  bullet  in  his  back  that  disabled  him  before 


THE    BEST    OF    FRIENDS    MUST    PART        151 

we  could  get  to  safe  cover.  We  got  down 
in  a  sort  of  a  brake,  though,  amongst  the  laurel, 
an'  hid  thar  while  the  revenuers  broke  up  the 
still.  We  ware  that  close  we  could  hear  the 
licks  as  they  knocked  things  to  pieces.  When 
things  got  toler'ble  quiet  I  drug  Lige  back 
whar  the  growth  ware  thicker,  an'  we-uns  lay 
thar  waitin'  for  daylight.  About  daybreak  I 
could  still  hear  the  men  scoutin'  about  lookin' 
for  us.  Lige  ware  ravin'  by  this  time,  plumb 
out'n  his  head.  About  twelve  o'clock  to-day  he 
died." 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  carrying  with  it 
the  horror  £>f  that  which  he  had  seen  and  heard 
in  the  brush.  The  old  woman  was  crying  softly, 
but  Joe  was  too  frightened  and  bewildered  for 
tears.  The  tragedy  of  the  law-breaker  had  come 
home  to  him  in  all  its  sudden,  startling  horror. 
After  a  moment's  silence  the  moonshiner  went 
on  with  his  story  : 

"  The  boys  got  away  somehows,  but  Lige 
ware  dead.  I  come  up  here  to  tell  you-uns,  so's 
Joe  could  go  over  thar  an'  haul  him  home." 


152  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

But  Joe  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  startled  pro- 
test :  "  Oh,  I  can't,"  said  he ;  "  I  can't  go  back 
to  that  place !  I'm  afeard  o'  him — the  dead  ;  an* 
I'm  afeard  o'  the  livin'.  The  revenuers'll  be 
hid  in  the  brake  an'  I'm  afeard  they'd  shoot 
me,  or  else  fetch  me  away  to  prison.  Don't  send 
me.  Granny,  they'd  know  I'd  been  haulin'  the 
apples ;  they'd  be  sure  to  harm  me  in  some 
way." 

"  Now,  that's  a  true  word,"  said  the  visitor. 
"  I  never  thought  o'  that.  But  I  don't  see  who 
else  can  go.  I  can't ;  they  know  I  belong  to  the 
gang;  I  crawled  halfway  here  on  my  hands  an' 
knees.  It  ought  to  be  some  one  that  ain't  got 
any  call  to  be  afeard."  He  was  silent  a  mo- 
ment, thinking,  then  said  with  sudden  inspira- 
tion : 

"  Jube  Jarvis  would  go.  Jube  ain't  got  any 
call  to  be  afeard  o'  anybody." 

"  No,"  said  granny,  "  Jube's  got  a  good 
name.  Nothin'  can't  touch  him.  I  reckin  Jube 
would  go  an'  fetch  that  misguided  one  home  to 
a  decent  buryin'." 


THE   BEST   OF   FRIENDS    MUST    PAKT        153 

"  I  can  go  over  an'  ask  Jube  that  word,"  said 
Joe,  ready  to  do  his  part  so  long  as  it  did 
not  take  him  back  to  the  despised  still.  As  he 
sped  away  in  the  moonlight  in  search  of  the 
man  who  had  no  call  to  be  afraid  of  anybody, 
Joe  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  force 
of  a  good  name.  Unconsciously  he  began  to 
compare  the  two  men — the  dead  man  lying  in 
the  brake  with  no  one  to  carry  his  body  home, 
and  the  man  who  had  nothing  to  fear  in  going 
where  the  guilty  and  suspected  were  afraid  to 
venture.  Unconsciously,  there  on  the  lonely 
mountain  road,  death  behind  and  danger  before 
him,  the  boy  made  the  great  turn  in  his  life 
that  was  to  affect  all  his  after  destiny.  Scarcely 
realizing  that  he  was  speaking,  as,  lifting  his 
tear- washed  face  to  the  solemn  skies,  he  recorded 
a  vow  :  "  I  mean,"  said  he,  "  to  make  a  good 
name.  A  good  name  air  worth  all  gains.  A 
man  who  has  got  it  need  be  afeard  o'  nothin', 
nothin'." 

He  felt  the  force  of  it  still  more  when  he  had 
delivered  his  message  and  saw  Jube  Jarvis, 


154  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

without  a  moment's  hesitation,  begin  to  make  his 
preparations  for  bringing  home  the  body  hidden 
in  the  laurel  brake.  The  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  send  for  some  of  the  neighbors  and  request 
their  assistance. 

"  Tell  'em  to  fetch  lanterns,  son,"  said  he  to 
the  messenger,  "  an'  all  the  help  they  can  get." 

Lanterns !  there  was  no  skulking  about  this 
man.  He  was  no  more  afraid  to  go  into  this 
den  of  corruption,  spied  upon  though  it  was  by 
the  eye  of  the  law,  than  he  was  to  go  behind  his 
own  counter.  To  Joe  it  was  courage  perfected. 

"  Mr.  Jarvis,  ain't  you  afeard  to  fetch  lanterns 
down  thar  ?  The  revenuers  may  be  hid  about." 

"No,  Joe,"  said  the  storekeeper ;  "  I  don't  do 
nothin'  in  the  dark.  As  fur  the  revenuers,  I'd 
rather  they  know  who  it  be ;  then  maybe  they 
won't  be  shootin'  harum-scarum.  I  ain't  afeard 
o'  the  light,  ever." 

Inspired  by  the  man's  courage  Joe  renewed 
his  vow  to  make  a  good  name. 

"  It's  better  than  a  shot-gun,"  he  told  him- 
self, as  he  slipped  off  home  again,  having  seen 


THE    BEST    OF    FRIENDS    MUST    PART        155 

the  men,  a  full  procession  and  fully  lighted, 
start  on  their  way  to  the  deserted  cave  and  the 
laurel  brake  near  by.  Later  came  the  simple 
funeral,  the  burial,  and  then  the  place  settled 
down  into  such  a  quiet  as  it  had  never  known. 
What  days  they  were  to  Joe  ;  no  more  fear  of 
the  heavy  step  on  the  walk,  the  threats,  the 
drive  in  the  dawn,  the  fire  under  the  crags  and 
the  dangers  that  lurk  in  the  bush.  Only  the 
long  days  with  granny  ;  the  simple  duties  about 
the  place,  such  as  feeding  old  Kit,  keeping  the 
wood  cut  and  the  kitchen  fire  made ;  and  at 
night  the  tool-chest,  and  the  curious  things  that 
grew  unchallenged  beneath  his  eager  hand. 
Happy  days,  blessed  nights ;  season  of  singing 
birds,  odorous  woods  and  quiet  dreams.  And 
then  came  the  awakening ;  came  the  season  of 
falling  leaves,  scarlet  and  gay  gold,  drifting 
down  to  the  hollows  with  the  chestnuts  and  the 
frost-sweetened  chinquapins.  The  Indian  pipes 
were  in  bloom,  the  golden-rod  flaunted  a  flag  in 
every  fence  corner.  To  Joe  the  mountain  had 
never  been  so  beautiful ;  he  had  never  loved  it 


156  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

before.  Hitherto  the  purple  pines  had  held 
something  of  terror  in  their  melancholy  sough- 
ing; but  now  he  recognized  it  as  the  music  that 
had  lulled  his  infancy  to  slumber.  And  thus, 
while  all  nature  warmed  and  throbbed  within 
him,  came  the  change  ;  it  must  all  be  given  up. 
They  were  going  away.  His  father's  brother 
had  come  over  from  the  first  bench  of  the  moun- 
tains and  persuaded  his  grandmother  that  she 
and  Joe  could  not  live  there  alone.  He  kept  a 
"stage  stand,"  a  kind  of  rude  inn  where 
travelers  across  the  mountain  sometimes  stopped 
for  refreshment.  She  and  Joe  were  welcome  to 
a  home  there,  he  said ;  and  "  Joe  could  help  a 
little  about  the  place."  The  price  the  cabin  and 
land  would  bring  "  would  be  used  to  make  the 
old  grandmother  comfortable  in  her  old  age." 
So,  after  much  persuasion,  granny  consented. 
Jube  Jarvis  bought  the  cabin  and  Ben  Bentley 
dropped  the  money  into  his  pockets  "for 
granny's  comfort  in  her  old  age." 

Joe  was  bitterly  opposed   to  going,  but  his 
uncle  had  carried  the  day. 


THE   BEST    OF    FRIENDS    MUST    PART        157 

The  boy  had  a  strong  premonition  of  sorrow 
ahead,  born  perhaps  of  the  hardships  that  lay 
behind  him.  At  the  last,  however,  he  accepted 
the  inevitable  and  tried  to  persuade  himself  that 
all  was  for  the  best. 

"  It  ain't  been  so  powerful  sunshiny  up  here," 
he  told  himself  as  he  stood  upon  the  bluff's  edge 
taking  a  last  look  at  the  far-away  hills  across 
the  valley.  "  It's  been  hard  licks — nothin'  but 
hard  licks  all  along.  It  can't  be  much  worser 
down  thai*  on  the  first  bench  o'  Cumberland 
Mountain  than  it's  been  up  here  on  top,  I 
reckin." 

His  eyes  filled  with  tears,  however,  when  later 
in  the  day  he  watched  the  loading  of  the  wagon 
containing  their  modest  household  goods.  Two 
strange  horses  stood  in  old  Kit's  stall,  while  old 
Kit  herself,  tied  to  a  sapling,  waited  for  her  new 
owner  to  come  and  claim  her ;  for  faithful  old 
Kit  had  been  sold,  along  with  the  house,  to 
Jube  Jarvis.  It  was  this,  perhaps  more  than  any- 
thing else,  that  had  fostered  in  the  boy's  heart  a 
distrust  of  his  uncle.  He  had  begged  so  hard 


158  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

to  take  Kit,  promising  to  feed  and  care  for  her 
with  his  own  hands ;  but  Beutley  had  insisted 
that  the  money  would  be  worth  more  to  granny 
than  a  worn-out  old  mule  in  the  corucrib.  It 
was  this  determination  to  turn  all  their  little 
property  into  money  that  had  aroused  Joe's 
suspicions.  There  was  but  one  comfort  about 
the  sale  of  Kit ;  Jube  Jarvis  had  bought  her. 
Yet  when  Joe  heard  the  new  owner's  voice  in 
the  house  he  crept  away,  so  that  he  might  not 
know  when  she  was  led  off. 

"  Seems  like  she's  been  the  only  friend  I  ever 
had,"  he  said,  as  he  waited  behind  the  house 
until  Mr.  Jarvis  should  be  gone. 

Once,  however,  he  peeped  around  the  corner 
just  at  the  moment  when  old  Kit  lifted  her 
head  to  look  that  way.  Instantly  a  familiar 
bray  fell  upon  his  ear ;  Jube  Jarvis  was  lead- 
ing poor  Kit  away.  Joe  was  seized  by  a  sudden 
impulse. 

"  Mr.  Jarvis !"  he  shouted.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Jarvis ! 
Wait  a  minute !" 

The  new  owner  of  the  mule  jerked  the  rope 


THE   BEST   OF    FRIENDS    MUST    PART        159 

knotted  about  the  animal's  neck,  and  waited 
until  the  former  owner  could  catch  up  with 
him. 

A  moment  more  and  without  a  word  he  had 
thrown  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  his  late 
friend  in  adversity  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  old  mule  tried  to  rub  his  sleeve  with  her 
nose,  as  though  she  would  have  returned  the 
caress. 

"Come,  come  now,"  said  the  storekeeper, 
"  what  ails  ye,  Joe,  ter  be  allowin'  as  I'd  mis- 
treat one  o'  God  A'mighty's  critters  ?  I'll  be  as 
keerful  o'  old  Kit  as  Joe  Bentley  ever  ware,  an' 
that's  promise  enough." 

Joe  drew  his  rough  sleeve  across  his  eyes. 

"  I  know  it,  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said  he.  "  I  know 
you-uns'll  treat  her  well.  You-uns  air  fair  an' 
kin'  ter  all,  man  an'  beast,  an'  I'm  proper  glad 
she  fell  inter  your  hands  so  long  as  she  had  ter 
go.  But  her  an'  me  have  seen  some  tolerble 
hard  times  tergether,  Mr.  Jarvis;  an'  somehows 
I  can't  think  of  her  as  only  an  ole  mule  critter ; 
it  seems  like  I  ware  partin'  from  a  friend.  Fur 


160  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

you  see — we  ware — sorter — partners  like — an' — 
an' — -I  loved  her."  And  again  poor  Joe  dropped 
his  head  upon  Kit's  back  and  sobbed. 

The  storekeeper  had  not  forgotten  the  many 
errands  Joe  had  run  for  him  those  days  at  the 
store ;  moreover,  his  own  heart  was  filled  with 
forebodings  for  the  boy's  future. 

"  No  mammy  an'  lots  worse  than  no  daddy 
always,"  he  told  himself  as  he  took  Joe's  arm 
and  led  him  away,  beyond  reach  of  listening 
ears.  Perhaps  they  were  never  to  meet  again, 
and  he  had  a  parting  word  to  whisper  in  the 
ear  that  had  ever  been  open  to  counsel. 

"  Now,  son,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  give  you  a 
word  to  carry  along  with  you;  a  short  word 
maybe,  but  one  as  will  go  a  long  ways  if  you-uns 
will  take  heed  to  it.  But  first  I  want  to  say, 
howsomever,  that  I  bought  this  yere  critter 
bekase  it  ware  you-uns',  an'  I  knowed  as  you-uns 
set  store  by  it.  I've  had  many  a  favior  at 
you-uns'  hands,  Joe." 

"At  mine,  Mr.  Jarvis?" 

"Yes,  sir ;    at  you-uns'.     Sech  faviors,  to  be 


'SEEMS  LIKE  I  WARE  PARTIX1  FROM  A  FRIEND' 
(Page  159) 


THE    BEST   OF   FRIENDS    MUST    PART        161 

sure,  as  only  a  boy  can  render,  but  not  sech  as 
all  boys  air  ready  to  render.  So  I  have  set  'em 
down  to  you-uns'  credit.  An'  I'm  takin'  this 
here  dumb  critter  to  save  you  the  sorrow  of 
seein'  it  go  to  strangers,  and  maybe  a-worritin' 
bekase  it  air  likely  to  be  mistreated.  Now,  I 
hope  you-uns'll  find  as  kind  a  master  as  ole  Kit's 
coinin'  to,  that's  all.  I  ain't  denyin'  as  I  mis- 
trusts that  thar  uncle  o'  yours  that  have 
turned  up  jest  in  time  to  take  control  o'  your 
granny's  truck  an'  other  belongin's.  But,  Joey, 
I  want  you-uns  to  reckerlect  this  word  :  it  ain't 
always  favor'ble  surroundin's  as  makes  a  man 
of  a  boy.  A  good  seed  will  grow  in  mighty  bad 
ground  sometimes  with  keerful  tendin'.  Now, 
you  take  the  advice  of  a  ole  man  as  found  you 
friendly  an'  wishes  you  well.  In  tryin'  to  git 
the  good  things  o'  this  world,  first  of  all  be  sure 
an'  get  for  yourse'f  a  good  name.  Get  it  an' 
keep  it.  In  the  long  run  o'  time  it  will  stand 
you  far  more  than  all  the  gold  an'  silver  o'  this 
world.  Remember  that ;  if  so  be  you  air  pore 
an'  humble,  let  your  motto  be  '  fair  an'  square/ 
11 


162  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

You'll  find  she'll  fetch  you  out  all  safe  at  the 
end." 

The  words  were  spoken  with  an  earnestness 
that  made  them  doubly  impressive.  Joe  felt 
that  the  storekeeper  shared  his  own  vague  doubts 
as  to  the  future  awaiting  him  and  his  grand- 
mother. 

"  I'll  try  to  live  up  to  your  words,  Mr.  Jarvis," 
said  he ;  "  I'll  surely  try."  And  without  further 
words  the  two  clasped  hands  in  a  long  good-bye. 
The  merchant  little  suspected  how  his  parting 
advice  was  to  shape  Joe's  future. 

When  they  had  parted  Joe  suddenly  turned 
and  said : 

.  "  If  I  ever  git  able  and  come  back  for  her 
you'll  sell  old  Kit  to  me,  Mr.  Jarvis,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Without  any  int'rest,"  said  the  storekeeper ; 
"  an'  thar's  my  hand  on  it." 

There  was  another  long,  silent  clasp,  a  fervent 
"  God  bless  you "  from  the  storekeeper,  and 
they  turned  their  separate  ways. 

Joe  walked  slowly  back  through  the  redden- 
ing sumach  with  his  head  bent  forward  upon 


THE   BEST   OF    FRIENDS    MUST    PART        163 

his  breast.  The  storekeeper's  blessing  lingered 
in  his  ears.  Would  it  follow  him  indeed 
upon  that  strange,  eventful  path  into  which 
his  young  feet  were  but  just  turning?  Alas, 
he  would  have  need  of  all  blessings  that  might 
come  his  way.  He  realized  it  before  the  sumach 
came  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SYLVIA 

THE  old  stage  road  across  the  mountain  had 
been  forsaken  long  ago.  When  the  railroad 
daringly  cut  its  way  through  and  under  the 
great  barrier-mountain  it  practically  cut  off 
travel  through  the  old  ways.  The  old  "  stage 
stands "  are  falling  to  decay ;  the  old  road 
itself  has  gone  to  wreck  and  ruin  long  ago. 
Land  slides  have  hurled  mighty  bowlders 
across  the  way,  and  the  merciless  mountain 
torrents  have  cut  trenches,  deep  and  dangerous, 
through  the  very  heart  of  it.  There  is  little 
left  to  tell  of  the  once  famous  popularity  of 
the  old  stage  road — only  tumble-down  rows  of 
buildings  still  marking  the  sites  of  former  inns, 
and  hewn  logs,  in  rotting  heaps,  where  a  great 
barn  used  to  shelter  the  stage  horses. 

Only  here  and  there,  where  the  railroad 
164 


SYLVIA  165 

passed  near  without  touching,  may  be  found  an 
old  lodging  house.  To  be  sure,  travel  did 
not  abandon  the  old  road  in  a  night ;  it  was 
years  and  years  before  the  mountaineer  brought 
himself  to  believe  the  "  cyars  "  were  safe.  And 
some  of  the  old  aristocrats,  too,  were  slow  to 
abandon  the  old  way.  The  big  "  stand  on 
the  first  bench  "  held  its  own  right  along  with 
the  iron-horse  of  progress  until  after  the  war 
had  ended  ;  and  even  to-day  a  traveler  may 
find  accommodation  at  the  old  Rock  House 
that  is  still  sometimes  called  a  "  stage  stand." 

It  was  here  that  Tom  Tate  used  to  find  fresh 
horses  in  the  great  barn  while  his  passengers 
were  finding  refreshment  at  Ben  Bentley's  inn. 
Tom  always  managed  to  find  excuse  for  stop- 
ping at  Bentley's ;  a  trace  was  "  givin'  way," 
or  a  wheel  needed  "  tendiu',"  a  horse  had  "  cast 
a  shoe,"  anything  almost,  was  sufficient  to  hold 
up  the  rumbling  old  stage  at  Bentley's  inn. 
Generally  Tom  managed  to  stop  over  night, 
but  that  was  when  he  did  not  find  his  passen- 
gers too  much  for  him,  as  was  sometimes  the 


166  A  MOOXSHINER'S  SON 

case,  when  they  boldly  demanded  that  he  pro- 
ceed at  once  to  the  town  farther  down  the 
mountain. 

Always  on  Mondays,  Wednesdays,  and  Satur- 
days the  stage  would  draw  up  at  the  inn  door, 
and  a  moment  later,  emptied  of  its  load,  would 
disappear  under  the  wings  of  the  big  barn. 
And  then  Tom  would  disappear  in  the  direc- 
tion of  a  little  cabin  hidden  away  among  the 
cedars,  where  his  "  baby  girl,"  Sylvia,  would 
be  waiting  at  the  window  for  him.  The  mo- 
ment the  first  note  of  the  stage  horn  could  be 
heard  floating  down  the  mountain  Sylvia  would 
be  at  the  window,  watching,  waiting  for  Tom. 

Tom  Tate  was  a  rough  fellow  outside,  a  big, 
burly  fellow,  with  sharp,  black  eyes  and  a 
shaggy  beard  and  hair.  But  there  must  have 
been  something  very  soft  and  tender  under  the 
rough  exterior  to  make  the  little  pinched  face 
pressed  against  the  window  pane  brighten  with 
happiness  when  the  familiar  music  of  the  stage 
horn  sounded  among  the  great  Cumberland 
crags.  And  this  same  little  face,  to  be  sure, 


SYLVIA  167 

was  the  cause  of  all  big  Tom's  sly  manoeuvring 
to  hold  up  the  stage  over  night  at  Bentley's. 

It  was  a  very  weary  face  that  lay  against 
the  pillow  one  afternoon  in  December  waiting 
for  Tom's  horn  to  blow.  Four  times  had  Tom's 
little  crippled  daughter  dragged  a  twisted  foot 
to  the  window  to  see  if  there  might  be  any  sign 
of  the  stage  coach  coming  down  the  mountain. 

At  a  certain  point,  far  up  the  mountain,  the 
stage  could  be  seen  for  one  brief  moment  mak- 
ing the  bend  that  would  bring  it  down  upon 
the  next  bench,  one  of  those  odd,  level 
stretches  peculiar  to  the  Cumberland  range. 

Always  before  sweeping  into  this  "  open  " 
Tom  Tate  blew  a  long,  mellow  call,  a  signal  to 
the  little  girl  in  the  cabin,  who  immediately 
took  up  her  stand  at  the  window  to  watch  the 
great  coach  swing  around  the  curve. 

It  was  a  wistful  face,  old  and  young  at  the 
same  time.  This  may  have  been  because  of 
the  foot  which  the  rheumatism  had  dwarfed 
and  twisted.  It  was  a  very  tiny  body,  too,  for 
her  years.  For  although  big  Tom  called  her 


168   .  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

his  "  baby  girl,"  Sylvia  had  passed  her  twelfth 
year.  On  the  December  afternoon  that  she 
waited  for  the  stage  the  snow  was  falling  in  long, 
shimmery  sheets  slantwise,  making  a  sort  of 
silver  veil  that  rendered  it  rather  doubtful  if 
the  stage  would  be  .visible,  after  all.  Sylvia 
turned  from  the  window  with  an  impatient  sigh, 
and  limped  back  to  the  couch  in  the  chimney 
corner.  "  It  is  so  snowy  I  can't  see  the  road," 
said  she  in  the  fretful  tone  of  the  invalid.  "  The 
mountains  are  like  gray  ghosts,  an'  the  trees  all 
big  blots  in  the  gray  storm.  I  sha'n't  see  father 
come  round  the  bench  after  all." 

An  old  woman,  Sylvia's  aunt,  sat  in  the 
opposite  corner,  knitting ;  she  laid  the  stocking 
across  her  knees  and  began  to  rope  off  the 
strands  of  yellow  yarn,  saying  as  she  did  so : 

"  Now,  now !  I  wouldn't  fret.  It'll  come 
down  just  as  well  may  be,  the  stage  will ;  an' 
then'll  come  Tom,  an'  then  supper.  I've  got  a 
nice,  tasty  squirrel  for  you-uns'  supper,  too. 
That  little  boy  over  to  Bentley's  fetched  it  for 
you-uns." 


SYLVIA  169 

The  child's  face  brightened  as  she  lifted  her- 
self on  her  elbow. 

"  Joe !  Did  Joe  fetch  it,  Aunt  Jane  ?  Did 
Joe  fetch  me  a  squirrel  ?" 

"  I  reckin  that  ware  his  name.  It  ware  that 
boy  that  come  last  fall  with  his  gran'ma  to  help 
about  the  place.  An'  they  do  say  the  way  old 
Bentley  works  him  is  a  cryin'  shame.  But  he 
fetched  you-uns  a  mighty  nice,  young  squirrel 
for  your  supper.  He  said  p'inted  it  ware  for 
you-uns.  '  For  Silvy'  ware  what  he  said." 

The  small  face  beamed. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  that  means  me,"  said  she, 
laughing  merrily.  "  Silvy  spells  me,  for  true. 
He  said  he  aimed  to  make  me  a  crutch  ;  an'  some 
day,  he  says,  he'll  make  me  a  cheer  with  a  little 
rollin'  wheel,  so  I  can  just  shove  myself  along. 
He  made  a  crutch  for  an  ole  woman  down  in  the 
cove  as  hadn't  walked  a  step  in  twenty  years, 
an'  she's  just  gettin'  about  on  that  crutch  as 
peart  as  anybody.  I  hope  Joe'll  make  mine. 
I'd  hate  to  have  to  lie  here  twenty  years.  Seems 
like  I'd  rather  be  dead  as  to  lie  here  all  that 


170  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

time.  Oh,  I  do  hope  Joe'll  make  my  crutch ! 
I  thiiik  I'd  be  able  to  get  about  on  that.  Oh,  I 
do  hope  he  will !" 

There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  turned  to  the 
window  where  the  snowflakes  were  darkening 
the  landscape.  The  voice  was  a  pitiful  little 
wail. 

"  He'll  make  it,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  I 
most  know  he  will.  They  say  he's  real  peart 
with  his  tools.  I  most  know  he'll  make  it,  an' 
then  you'll  be  gettin'  well  before  your  pappy 
can  make  all  that  money  to  fetch  you  to  Flur- 
idy  with." 

"  I  ain't  lookin'  fur  that."  The  voice  had  a 
despairing  tone  now.  "  I  ain't  lookin'  fur  no  for- 
tunes to  come  droppin'  down  the  chimney  to 
fetch  a  pore  lame  gal  to  Fluridy.  If  my  walkin' 
depends  on  that,  I'll  be  shut  up  here  twenty 
years  an'  more,  I'm  thinkin'.  What  I  looks 
for  is  that  thar  crutch  Joe  Bentley  promised  to 
make  for  me,  if  his  mean  ole  uncle  can  be  per- 
suaded to  let  him  take  time  enough  to  make 
it.  I  hate  meanness." 


SYLVIA  171 

"  Why,  Silvy !"  exclaimed  the  aunt,  "  that's 
mighty  bad  manners." 

"  I  hate  manners,  too,"  said  Sylvia.  "  I  hate 
anything  that  makes  ole  Bentley  anything  but 
mean.  He  is  mean  ;  he's  meaner'n  p'ison.  I 
know  lie  makes  Joe  work  all  day,  an'  then 
don't  always  give  him  a  bed  to  sleep  on  nights. 
There !  that's  meaner  than  a  dog !" 

"  Well,  then,  let  it  be,"  said  the  old  woman. 
"  I  have  heard  as  how  he  got  all  the  ole  woman's 
money,  an'  then  threated  to  have  'em  both 
druv  off  the  place  if  she  said  a  word  about  Joe's 
workin'.  'Pears  like  the  old  lady  air  tolerble 
fond  o'  the  boy." 

"  He's  a  good  boy,"  said  Sylvia.  She  had 
forgotten  the  stage  in  her  defense  of  Joe. 
"  He's  a  good  boy ;  he's  goin'  to  make  me  a 
crutch.  I'm  hopin'  more  from  that  than  I  am 
from  father's  '  fortune '  that's  to  fetch  me  to 
Fluridy.  There !  that's  what  I  think  of  Joe 
Bentley !" 

"Hush!     What  was  that?" 

She   lifted   herself  to  listen ;  the   very  last 


172  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

note  of  a  horn,  mellow  and  sweet  and  clear  as  a 
silver  bell,  floated  down  the  mountain. 

The  girl  attempted  to  spring  up,  but  fell  back 
with  a  low  moan  upon  her  pillows.  She  had 
forgotten  the  bad  foot. 

"  I  can't  get  up,"  she  sobbed.  "  Help  me, 
Aunt  Jane.  Help  me  up  to  the  window  to  see 
father's  stage  come  down  the  mountain." 

The  old  woman  slipped  her  arm  under  Sylvia's 
shoulder  and  attempted  to  lift  her  up,  but  when 
she  tried  to  balance  herself  upon  the  crippled 
foot  the  pain  was  so  great  that  she  could  only 
fall  back  upon  her  pillows  and  sob, 

"  Ye  must  a-strained  it  some  a-tryiu'  to  jump 
up,"  said  Aunt  Jane. 

"  An'  now  I  can't  see  father  come  down," 
sobbed  the  sick  girl.  "Oh,  why  don't  Joe  bring 
my  crutch !" 

The  stage  had  turned  into  the  last  bend  be- 
fore Sylvia  reached  the  window,  too  late  to  see 
the  rocking  old  top  disappear  among  the  inter- 
vening trees.  She  was  still  standing  at  the 
window,  the  tears  upon  her  cheeks,  when 


SYLVIA  173 

there  came  a  hurried  knocking  at  the  door. 
To  the  old  woman's  "  Come  in,"  the  latch  was  in- 
stantly lifted  and  Joe  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
Joe,  with  such  a  pale,  pinched  little  face  that 
old  Kit  would  never  have  recognized  in  him  the 
beloved  master  she  had  carried  off  in  the  gray 
dawn  to  the  still  under  the  waterfall.  The  eyes 
were  sunken  and  weak ;  the  shoulders  had  a 
telltale  droop,  bewailing,  without  voice,  the  un- 
natural burdens  laid  upon  them. 

Broken,  disappointed,  weary  unto  death,  but 
still  the  same  honest,  uncompromising  Joe.  He 
carried  in  his  hand  a  little  wooden  crutch,  care- 
fully wadded  with  part  of  an  old  comfort 
where  the  frail  arm  must  rest  upon  the  saddle. 

He  walked  straight  up  to  the  window  where 
Sylvia  had  climbed  upon  a  tall  chair  to  watch 
for  the  stage. 

"  I  have  fetched  your  crutch,  Silvy,"  said  he. 
"  Measure  an'  see  if  it's  the  proper  length  so  I 
can  trim  it  off  some  if  it's  too  long.  Measure 
right  quick,  please,"  he  said,  seeing  the  girl  was 
about  to  break  into  raptures.  "  I  have  slipped 


174  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

off,  an'  I  must  run  right  back.  Here,  just  run 
yer  arm  over  that,  an'  take  this  handle  in  your 
hand.  There !  now  let's  see  you  go !" 

The  laugh  that  accompanied  the  words  seemed 
almost  out  of  place  upon  the  thin  lips  that 
had  known,  alas  !  too  little  of  boyish  mirth.  He 
tarried  but  a  moment  to  see  her  try  his  gift ; 
her  delight  was  quite  thanks  enough  and  he 
waited  for  no  other,  though  he  heard  her  laugh 
and  the  words  that  she  called  after  him. 

"  Oh,  Joe  !  I  reckon  this  air  the  nearest  I'll 
come  to  Fluridy,  and  I  thank  you-uns  lots." 

He  had  heard  about  the  Florida  plan,  and,  like 
Sylvia,  he  never  expected  it  to  come  any  nearer 
consummation  than  it  had  already  come.  They 


was  promising  them  should  come  "  down  the 
chimney  some  o'  these  days,  an'  whisk  'em  all 
away  to  Fluridy,  where  the  rheumatiz  would  be 
thawed  out  o'  the  'flicted  body." 

The  one  pleasure  Joe  had  stumbled  upon  in 
his  new  life  was  Tom  Tate's  little  lame  girl.  He 
had  spent  many  hours  when  work  was  over  at 


SYLVIA  175 

his  uncle's  inn  talking  to  Sylvia  about  the 
wonderful  things  he  expected  to  make  with  his 
tools  as  soon  as  he  had  the  leisure  to  "  work  on 
"em/"  And  he  had  found  her  a  ready  listener 
and  an  earnest  sympathizer.  Once  she  had  said 
with  a  little  sigh  : 

"  Now,  if  only  I  could  divide  up  all  this  use- 
less time  o?  mine  with  TOO." 

From  that  moment  he  had  been  busy  deriving 
means  whereby  the  rime  should  no  longer  be 
"useless,"  or  hang  heavily  upon  the  cripple. 
The  crutch  was  the  first  step.  That  would  help 
her  to  "  get  about,"  and  truly  feel  that  she  was 
not  helpless ;  the  first  great  step,  indeed,  on  the 
road  to  independence.  The  night  that  he  tacked 
on  the  padding  when  everybody  was  asleep — for 
Sylvia's  crutch  had  been  made  nights  when 
work  was  over — was  a  very  happy  one  far  Joe, 
But  when  he  dropped  in  with  it,  and  saw  the 
glad  light  spring  to  the  tired  eyes  he  felt  more 
than  repaid  for  all  his  lost  sleep  and  labor. 
Sylvia  had  lost  her  mother  when  a  baby,  hot, 
like  meet  of  the  mountain  people,  Tom  had  not 


176  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

been  at  any  loss  to  find  a  convenient  relative  to 
come  and  keep  house  for  him.  Indeed,  he  had 
been  most  fortunate  in  this  respect,  for  his  sister 
was  scarcely  less  devoted  to  Sylvia  than  Tom 
himself. 

She,  too,  saw  the  pleasure,  the  flush  of  hope 
that  Joe's  present  had  called  forth,  and  she  fol- 
lowed the  boy  to  the  gate  and  tendered  her 
thanks  in  her  own  way. 

"  It  air  the  first  time  I  have  seen  her  pleasured 
this  many  a  day,"  said  she,  "  an'  you  ware 
mighty  good  to  remember  a  little  'flicted  gal 
that  way." 

"It  pleasured  me  to  make  it  for  her,"  said 
Joe ;  "  it  ware  a  real  pleasure  to  me,  Mis'  Tate." 

"  You  air  a  good  boy,"  said  Miss  Tate ;  "  all 
the  mountain  says  that  word  o'  you.  They  all 
say  it  air  a  shame  the  way  you  air  used  down 
yonder.  They  all  gives  you  a  fair  word ;  a 
mighty  good  name." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Joe.  "  I'd  rather 
have  a  good  name  as  to  have  fair  treatment." 

And  as  he  trudged  home  through  the  snow 


SYLVIA  177 

he  remembered  Jube  Jarvis's  parting  advice  and 
felt  glad  that  his  efforts  to  follow  his  first  friend's 
advice  had  not  been  wholly  vain.  He  remem- 
bered Sylvia's  words  concerning  the  trip  to 
Florida ;  he  thought  of  them  as  he  drew  near 
the  old  Rock  House,  that  was  now  his  only  home, 
and  saw  the  old  stage  drawn  up  before  the  door, 
and  Tom  Tate  helping  two  passengers  to  alight. 
He  remembered  the  promised  trip  to  Florida. 
Like  Sylvia  he  had  little  faith  in  the  coming  of 
the  great  fortune ;  yet  afterward,  when  it  did 
come,  he  remembered  the  promise  with  sorrow. 


12 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  BELATED  OLD  STAGE  COACH 

AT  the  Rock  House,  Bentley  was  fuming  and 
fussing  over  the  belated  stage  coach ;  it  was 
already  several  hours  late  and  still  no  sign  of  it. 

"  The  dinner's  plumb  sp'iled  long  ago,"  said 
he  to  his  wife  as  he  was  returning  from  one  of 
his  repeated  walks  to  the  gate  to  see  if  the 
rumbling  old  vehicle  might  riot  "  be  in  sight." 

"  Land  alive  man,"  said  she,  "  what  ails  you, 
to  take  on  so  ?  Seems  like  you  ought  to  know 
that  a  stage  belated  in  a  snow-storm  means  a 
full  bed  for  the  Rock  House." 

"  An'  whar  can  we  put  so  many,  I'd  like  to 
know,"  said  Bentley ;  "  thar  ain't  but  three 
rooms  in  this  house  have  got  fireplaces  fitten  to 
light  a  blaze  in ;  an'  one  o'  them  has  to  be  give 
to  granny." 

The  woman  glanced  at  Joe. 
178 


THE    BELATED    OLD    STAGE    COACH          179 

"  We-uns  air  pore,"  said  she,  "  an'  trav'lers 
don't  come  along  ev'ry  day.  We'll  be  obleeged 
to  crowd  up  some.  Joe'll  have  to  turn  out  for 
granny,  an'  somebody  can  have  her  room  to- 
night ;  thar's  a  good  fireplace  in  thar." 

Joe  said  nothing;  he  had  long  ago  learned  the 
uselessness  of  trying  to  "  stand  up  for  granny." 
He  stood  silently  in  the  doorway  watching  the 
snow  drifting  in  great  blinding  sheets  across  the 
road,  driven  by  the  December  wind  under  the 
long,  low  ledges  of  the  mountain.  He  thought, 
of  the  swaying  old  stage  making  that  dangerous 
descent  in  the  teeth  of  the  storm.  Tom  Tate 
was  a  careful  driver,  and  had  doubtless  wailed 
somewhere  along  the  road  during  the  heavier 
flurries.  The  way  was  steep  and  slippery  at  all 
times ;  but  in  winter,  and  since  the  railroad  had 
reduced  travel,  it  was  far  more  so. 

Joe  felt  uneasy  enough  as  hour  after  hour 
passed  and  still  the  stage  did  not  come.  Finally, 
when  Bentley,  growing  too  impatient  to  wait  at 
home,  went  up  the  mountain  to  meet  it,  Joe 
slipped  into  granny's  little  room,  that  had  been 


180  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

a  big  pantry  in  the  palmy  days  of  the  Rock 
House,  before  the  railroad  killed  travel  on  the 
road,  and  drawing  from  under  the  bed,  where 
he  had  hidden  the  little  carefully-smoothed 
crutch  he  had  finished  the  night  before,  watched 
for  a  chance  when  Mrs.  Bentley  was  not  on 
guard  and  slipped  away  through  the  woods  to 
Tom's  cabin  beyond  the  orchard. 

He  heard  the  long,  winding  melody  of  the 
horn  before  he  had  made  half  the  trip  back,  and 
fearing  the  anger  of  his  uncle  should  he  find  him 
absent,  he  set  out  in  a  run  for  the  house. 

When  he  reached  it  the  stage  had  turned 
from  the  door,  and  Tom  was  driving  the  tired 
horses  into  the  great  spreading  old  barn,  where 
they  must  assuredly  have  felt  lonely  enough 
but  for  the  cows  and  chickens  that  had  been 
given  habitation  there  since  the  need  for  so  much 
room  had  become  a  thing  of  the  past. 

Joe  stole  around  to  the  back  way  and  came 
up  just  in  time  to  take  the  valises  that  the  two 
passengers  had  deposited  at  the  door.  He  saw 
them,  a  very  tall  man  and  a  very  short  one,  go  up 


THE    BELATED    OLD    STAGE   COACH          181 

to  the  dirty  old  register  and  leave  their  names 
there — Silas  Thompson,  attorney,  Knoxville, 
and  Emerson  H.  L.  White,  Knoxville.  The 
small  man  was  a  great  lumber  dealer  and  manu- 
facturer, and  Mr.  Thompson  was  his  lawyer. 
Joe  deposited  their  valises  as  he  had  orders  to 
do,  one  in  the  room  generally  occupied  by 
granny,  the  other  in  what  was  called  "  the  sit- 
ting-room." For  much  of  the  inn  had  been 
torn  away  of  late  years,  and  much  of  it 
was  still  too  bare  and  exposed  for  winter 
habitation. 

When  the  boy  returned  to  the  sitting-room  he 
saw  the  manufacturer  stooping,  and  with  chilled 
fingers  trying  to  unfasten  the  refractory  latch 
of  an  arctic  overshoe.  Instantly  Joe  dropped 
upon  one  knee,  and  giving  a  nimble  twist  and 
jerk  soon  had  the  shoe  off;  in  a  twinkling  the 
mate  followed  and  the  boy  rose. 

"Thank  you,  my  boy,"  said  the  gentleman. 
"  My  fingers  were  so  nearly  frozen  I  couldn't 
undo  the  latch.  Now  do  you  run  your  hand 
in  the  pocket  of  that  overcoat  of  mine  and  get 


182  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

out  that  big  orange.  They  don't  come  into 
these  parts  every  day,  I  am  thinking." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  an'  thankee,  sir.  I'll 
fetch  it  to  granny." 

"Wait,  then,"  said  the  lawyer,  "and  feel  in 
my  other  pocket  for  the  mate  to  it  for  yourself." 

Again  Joe  expressed  his  thanks  and  ran  on0 
to  granny.  A  moment  more  and  he  was  on  the 
way  to  the  great  barn  where  Tom  was  busy  with 
his  horses.  He  wished  to  catch  the  stage  driver 
before  he  left,  and  send  one  of  the  oranges  to 
Sylvia.  Indeed,  had  he  had  a  dozen  oranges 
he  would  in  all  probability  have  found  some  one 
to  give  them  to.  For  unselfishness  is  born  in 
the  heart  of  a  boy  as  conscience  is  born  in  his 
soul ;  a  gift  straight  from  God  that  may  be 
cultivated  or  destroyed,  just  as  the  possessor  wills- 

Joe  called  lustily  at  the  door  of  the  barn,  but 
there  was  no  answer.  This  was  odd,  seeing  the 
doors  were  wide  open  and  the  racks  empty. 
Entering,  Joe  was  still  more  surprised  to  find 
Tom  was  there,  shaking  the  snow  from  his  old 
brown  beaver  and  making  haste  to  be  off. 


THE    BELATED    OLD    STAGE    COACH  183 

"  You  had  a  hard  drive,  didn't  you  Tom  ?" 
said  Joe,  ignoring  the  man's  silence. 

"  Mighty  hard,"  was  the  reply  in  a  sullen 
tone,  so  unlike  the  usually  friendly  Tom.  "  I 
druv  under  a  bluff  and  thar  I  had  to  wait  a 
whole  hour  before  it  held  up  enough  for  me  to 
make  that  thar  last  bend  o'  the  mount'n.  And 
all  the  time  I  knowed  Silvy  ware  frettin'  and 
worritin'  at  home." 

"  Let  me  feed  the  horses,  Tom,"  said  Joe, 
"  and  you  go  on  home.  Put  this  in  here — " 

He  ran  his  hand,  with  the  orange  in  it,  into 
Tom's  great  gaping  pocket,  and  the  next  moment 
almost  cried  out  with  astonishment  as  Tom's  big 
bridle  hand  sent  him  headlong  across  the  barn 
floor.  Had  the  man  gone  mad  !  For  a  moment 
Joe  thought  so,  and  this  fear  served  to  curb  his 
anger. 

"  I  ware  only  puttin'  that  orange  in  thar  for 
Silvy,"  said  he.  "  One  o'  them  new  men  give 
it  to  me,  and  I  wanted  Silvy  to  have  it,  that 
ware  all." 

Tom  began  to  apologize  with  haste.     "  I  didn't 


184  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

mean  to  hurt  you,"  said  lie.  "You  know  I 
wouldn't  'a'  done  that.  I  ware  jest — I  ware  only 
— dad  burn  my  hide,  I  don't  know  what  I  ware 
doin'.  'Pears  like  this  here  drivin'  in  snow- 
storms and  worritin'  about  my  little  gal  have 
in  and  about  took  what  little  sense  I  ever  did 
have.  I  ax  your  pardon,  Joe.  You-uns  have 
always  been  mighty  kind  to  my  Silvy ;  I  ain't 
furgot  the  night  you  rid  five  miles  in  the  rain 
to  fetch  the  yerb  doctor  whenst  she  was  sick  and 
I  off  on  a  trip.  I  wouldn't  hurt  you — not  for 
all  Cum'lun  Mount'n." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Joe.  "And  I  know  how 
you  feel.  Now  you  go  on  home.  I'll  feed  the 
horses  and  lock  the  doors.  And  you  tell  Silvy 
I  sent  her  the  orange  for  her  supper.  Oh,  Tom  ! 
I  fetched  her  the  crutch  this  evenin',  and  she 
ware  that  delighted  it  done  me  good  to  see  her." 

"  I'll  be  bound  she  ware,"  said  Tom,  with 
both  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "  Poor  little  gal ; 
she  air  that  sprightly  and  ambitious,  and  to  be 
so  hindered  !  It  air  plumb  distractin'.  But  it 
ain't  goin'  to  be  forever.  Not  by  a  long  sight. 


THE    BELATED    OLD    STAGE    COACH          185 

I'm  hopin'  to  fetch  her  to  Fluridy  mighty  soon 
now." 

Was  it  fancy  ?  Was  the  face,  lifted  for  a 
moment  to  the  uncertain  light,  changed? 
Where  was  the  honest  brown  face  of  Tom  Tate, 
the  mountain  stage  driver  ?  The  face  which 
only  the  day  before  had  beamed  from  the  box, 
earnest,  eager,  open  to  all  the  world,  and  honest 
in  the  good  light  of  day  ? 

Joe  tried  to  shake  off  the  feeling  that  had 
taken  possession  of  him — the  feeling  that  Tom 
had  changed. 

"  Tell  Silvy,"  said  he,  "  that  the  orange  come 
from  Fluridy  anyhows.  I  know  just  what  she'll 
say,  Tom.  She'll  say  :  '  That's  as  near  Fluridy 
as  I'll  ever  get.'  That's  what  Silvy'll  say." 

"An'  it'll  be  a  blamed  big  mistake,"  snarled 
Tom,  and  again  that  odd,  unnatural  look  came 
into  the  brown  face.  But  before  Joe  could 
speak  Tom  was  gone.  He  went  dashing  out  the 
door  with  something  that  sounded  very  like  an 
oath,  but  was  too  low  for  Joe  to  understand  just 
what  it  was. 


186  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

He  forgot  the  incident,  however,  while  seated 
by  the  sitting-room  fire  after  supper  listening 
to  the  strange  gentlemen  talking.  One  of  them, 
Mr.  White,  was  taking  his  attorney  over  into  a 
great  lumber  district  across  the  mountain  to 
settle  up  the  last  year's  contracts  and  to  make 
new  ones  for  the  coming  year.  The  great 
manufacturer  told  of  the  wonderful  shops  in 
Kuoxville,  of  the  numerous  hands  employed 
there,  and  of  the  curious  things,  in  the  way  of 
furniture,  that  were  every  day  turned  out  there. 
Joe  listened  with  a  delight  that  was  not  lost 
upon  the  stranger.  Indeed,  the  rich  man,  de- 
voted as  he  was  to  his  manufactures,  was  almost 
as  sorry  as  Joe  when,  with  a  sigh,  the  boy  gath- 
ered the  travelers'  boots  and  went  off  into  the 
kitchen  to  black  them.  And  then  it  was  he 
remembered  Tom's  odd  behavior. 

He  was  not  himself,  that  was  plain  enough. 

"  Why  didn't  he  answer  when  I  called  ?"  said 
Joe  to  himself.  "  Why,  he  hung  his  head  like — 
like — "  the  word  was  whispered  softly,  "  like  a 
thief." 


THE   BELATED   OLD    STAGE   COACH         187 

The  house  was  still  when  he  carried  the 
shoes  to  the  gentlemen's  rooms.  In  the  sitting- 
room,  where  Mr.  White  had  been  put  to  sleep, 
the  fire  still  burned  low  in  the  black  fireplace. 
It  would  be  warm  there  all  night ;  in  the  rafter 
room,  where  he  would  lodge,  Joe  knew  how  the 
bleak  winds  would  creep  underneath  the  loose 
clapboards.  A  temptation  assailed  him ;  why 
not  lie  down  there  before  the  fire  and  sleep  ? 
He  would  be  up  and  out  long  enough  before 
anybody  else  was  awake.  The  men  were  going 
by  private  conveyance  the  rest  of  their  journey, 
and  so  would  not  have  to  be  up  in  time  for  the 
stage.  Moreover,  the  stage  itself  would,  like  as 
not,  be  snowbound  for  several  days.  There 
would  be  no  early  rising  at  the  Rock  House ;  it 
would  be  quite  safe,  he  fancied,  as  he  stretched 
himself  out  before  the  warm  fire,  and  soon  fell 
asleep. 

When  the  sound  of  his  breathing  told  that  he 
was  sleeping,  the  manufacturer,  over  in  the 
bed,  lifted  himself  upon  an  elbow  and  glanced 
in  sympathetic  silence  at  the  weary,  overbur- 


188  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

dened  sleeper.  Then,  slipping  softly  across  the 
room,  he  took  his  own  heavy  greatcoat  and  laid 
it  over  the  sleeping  boy.  In  his  youth  he,  too,  had 
known  what  it  was  to  wrestle  with  an  adverse 
fate ;  the  recollection  of  his  own  struggles  had 
made  a  very  tender  spot  in  his  heart  for  strug- 
gling boyhood  everywhere. 

With  the  first  peep  of  the  gray  dawn  over  the 
mountain,  Joe  awoke.  When  he  saw  the  hand- 
some coat  lying  there  on  the  floor  beside  him 
his  heart  seemed  to  give  a  great  bound  and  then 
to  stop  beating.  How  came  it  there  ?  Had  he 
been  cold  in  the  night  and  taken  the  coat  in  his 
sleep  ?  Surely  he  had  never  dared  to  touch  it 
when  awake  and  in  his  senses.  He  carefully 
brushed  and  replaced  the  garment  where  it  had 
hung  the  night  before,  and,  softly  opening  the 
door,  slipped  away  to  his  morning  duties. 

When  he  returned  to  the  house  there  was 
great  commotion  in  the  sitting-room.  Mr.  White, 
was  walking  the  floor  in  an  excited,  troubled 
way,  while  the  attorney  stood  before  the  fire, 
his  hands  crossed  behind  him,  a  worried  and 


THE    BELATED    OLD    STAGE   COACH          189 

uneasy  expression  upon  his  face.  Bentley  was 
swearing  like  a  madman.  Poor  Joe  heard  his 
own  name  mixed  and  mingled  rather  freely 
with  the  oaths ;  and  granny,  poor,  feeble  old 
granny,  was  standing  in  the  doorway  waiting 
for  him,  the  tears  rolling  down  her  wrinkled 
cheeks,  and  looking  as  though  her  heart  had 
broken.  When  Joe  appeared  she  tottered  for- 
ward and  held  out  her  hands  helplessly,  plead- 
ingly to  him. 

"  Oh,  Joey,  son,"  said  she,  "  come  in  here  an' 
tell  'em  you  didn't  steal  the  gentleman's  money. 
Tell  'em,  son,  you  didn't  touch  the  coat."  And 
with  a  low,  broken  cry  of  despair  granny  fell 
forward,  senseless,  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  X 

UNDER    THE    DOORSTEP 

IT  was  quite  dark  when  Tom  Tate  reached 
his  cabin,  after  leaving  the  care  of  the  horses  to 
Joe's  ever-willing  hands.  He  walked  slowly, 
and,  although  he  had  been  in  such  haste  to  get 
away  from  the  barn,  he  took  a  roundabout  path 
home,  and  one  that  carried  him  more  than  a 
mile  out  of  his  way.  His  step,  usually  so 
quick  and  expectant,  was  slow  and  heavy,  and 
he  lingered  outside  the  door,  under  cover  of 
the  sheltering  darkness. 

Sylvia  had  been  industriously  practicing  with 
her  crutch ;  already  she  was  able  to  walk  about 
the  room  with  its  assistance,  and  more  than 
once  the  glad  laugh  of  childhood,  so  seldom 
heard  in  the  cabin  of  late,  had  brought  an 
answering  smile  to  the  lips  of  Miss  Tate,  busily 
preparing  supper  in  the  shed-room. 
190 


UNDER   THE    DOORSTEP  191 

"  By  to-morrow,"  said  Sylvia,  "  I'll  be  able 
to  go  over  to  the  Rock  House.  By  to-morrow. 
I'll  sure  go  over  an'  see  Joe,  Aunt  Jane,  if 
the  snow  ain't  too  deep  for  my  old  pardner 
here." 

"  Why;  honey,"  said  Miss  Tate,  "  you  ain't 
been  out  o'  the  house  for  nigh  on  six  months. 
It  would  in  an'  about  kill  you  to  go  out  in  the 
weather.  You  mustn't  think  about  it,  Silvy ; 
not  before  spring,  no  ways." 

"Well,"  laughed  Sylvia,  "I  am  thinkin' 
right  smart  about  it.  More  than  I  have  thought 
in  many  a  day,  I  reckon."  And  she  whisked 
off  to  the  window  to  see  if  Tom  might  be  coming 
home. 

He  was  very,  very  late.  Later  than  she  had 
ever  known  "him ;  another  time  she  would 
have  fretted  and  complained  at  the  delay.  But 
this  evening  she  had  been  so  occupied  with 
Joe's  gift  that  she  had  forgotten  how  time  was 
flying. 

Suddenly  the  ear,  tuned  by  affliction  to  catch 
the  faintest  footfall,  caught  the  sound  of  ap- 


192  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

preaching  steps.  She  listened  a  moment,  a 
puzzled  expression  in  the  blue  eyes  turned  to 
the  window.  It  was  certainly  her  father's  step ; 
yet  there  was  something  different  about  it. 
Sylvia  had  not  listened  so  intently  for  that  step 
upon  the  gravel  outside  the  door  not  to  be 
familiar  with  the  slightest  change  in  it. 

"Well !"  said  she,  softly,  as  one  speaks  to  one's 
own  heart,  "what  is  the  matter  with  father?" 

Pressing  her  face  to  the  pane  and  shutting  off 
with  her  hands  the  light  from  the  fire,  she  saw  a 
figure,  indistinct  and  shadowy,  stoop,  lift  the 
great  rock  that  formed  the  cabin  doorstep,  and 
rise  again.  The  next  moment  she  heard  a  hand 
feeling  cautiously  in  the  darkness  for  the  latch- 
string. 

Eager  and  expectant,  full  of  the  happiness  of 
being  once  more  able  to  go  and  meet  him,  Sylvia 
turned  to  the  door,  still  leaning  upon  Joe's  gift, 
her  face  aglow,  her  heart  full  of  joy.  At  the 
very  first  glimpse  of  his  face  she  stopped,  the 
little  wooden  prop  slipped  from  her  hand  and 
rolled  down  upon  the  floor. 


UNDER   THE    DOORSTEP  193 

"  Father,"  said  she,  "  what  has  happened  to 
you-uns  ?" 

The  face  turned  to  hers  was  pale  and  anx- 
ious; the  eyes  had  a  furtive,  frightened  look 
in  them.  At  the  sound  of  the  child's  voice 
Tom  rallied  and  tried  to  shake  off  the  spell  that 
held  him. 

"  Why,  honey,"  said  he,  "  there  ain't  any- 
thing the  matter — "  At  the  same  moment 
he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  in  a  guilty,  fright- 
ened way,  as  though  an  unseen  danger  were 
dogging  his  steps. 

The  child  stood  staring  a  moment,  then  sud- 
denly burst  into  tears.  Instantly  Tom  was 
himself  again.  He  stooped  and  lifted  the  frail 
form  in  his  arms. 

"  Why,  honey,"  said  he,  "  what  ails  you,  to 
take  on  so  ?  Ain't  you  glad  to  see  your  pappy  ? 
Or  air  you  just  mad  some  bekase  he's  so  late? 
Well,  now,  if  you  just  could  'a'  seen  them  horses 
huggin'  that  old  bluff  in  the  storm  you'd  feel 
like  huggin'  the  old  driver  some,  sure,  for 
pilotin'  of  'em  safe  down  that  thar  mount'n. 
13 


194  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

That  you  would.  And  what's  all  this  that  I 
see  here?" 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  the  child  upon  his 
knee,  and  reached  his  hand  for  the  little  wooden 
crutch.  Instantly  Sylvia's  tears  ceased  to  flow ; 
"It's  my  crutch,"  she  cried,  joyfully.  "Joe 
fetched  it  to  me.  Now,  see  me  walk !" 

And  walk  she  did,  the  slight  arm  carried 
over  the  crutch,  the  tip  of  the  shortened  foot 
just  touching  the  floor,  a  smile  wreathing  the 
lips  that  had  wellnigh  forgotten  how  to  smile. 
In  the  stage  driver's  eyes  the  quick  tears 
gathered  ;  "  now,  if  that  ware  not  clever  of  Joe 
Bentley,"  said  he.  "  I'll  reckerlect  that  o'  Joe. 
Git  out  thar  an'  let  me  see  you  do  it  again." 

And  again  the  graceful  little  body  tripped 
carefully  across  the  old  puncheon  floor  while 
Tom  looked  on,  the  smile  under  his  shaggy 
beard  a  match  to  the  smile  beaming  in  the 
child's  delighted  eyes. 

"  Fust  rate,"  declared  Tom,  "  fust  rate.  I'll 
do  somethin'  for  Joe  Bentley,  sure's  my  name's 
Tom  Tate ;  see  if  I  don't.  Why,  honey,  with 


UNDER    THE    DOORSTEP  195 

such  skippin'  as  that  we'll  soon  be  runnin' 
away  to  Fluridy." 

"  A-walkin',  you  mean,"  laughed  Sylvia.  "  I 
reckon  that'll  be  the  quickest  way  we-uns'll  ever 
git  to  Fluridy.  But  as  for  me,  I'm  content  to 
walk  here  in  Tennessee,  if  only  so  I  can  walk." 

"  But  we  won't  walk ;  we'll  ride  in  the  steam 
cyars,  big  as  anybody  ;  see  if  we  don't.  I  tell 
y-o-u-" 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  again  in  that 
startled,  furtive  way  that  was  half  fear,  half 
surprise,  and  said  no  more. 

"  Did  you  hear  somethin'  ?"  said  Sylvia. 

He  answered  her  more  sharply  than  he  had 
ever  spoken  to  her  in  all  her  life. 

"No,  I  ain't  heeard  nothin',  an'  I  can't  see 
as  you-uns  have  got  any  call  to  be  spyin'  on 
yer  own  pappy,  an'  suspicionin'  of  him,  an* 
takin'  of  him  up  so  sharp  like,  as  though  he'd 
gone  an'  done  somethin'  to  be  afeard  on." 

Aunt  Jane  put  her  head  in  at  this  moment  to 
say  the  supper  was  ready  and  Tom  strode  off  to 
the  other  room  without  so  much  as  a  look  at 


196  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Sylvia,  who  stood  staring  after  him  for  a 
moment  through  the  tears  that  his  unusual 
sharpness  brought  to  her  eyes.  She  followed 
him  out  to  supper,  but  her  appetite  was  gone. 
She  was  afraid  to  speak  to  him  again.  She 
had  never  seen  him  in  such  a  mood  ;  something 
had  happened,  she  felt  sure  of  that.  But  she 
had  a  comfort  in  her  crutch.  She  slipped  off 
into  her  aunt's  room  and  walked  about  there 
for  an  hour,  while  Tom  sat  moodily  in  the  cor- 
ner, that  furtive,  frightened  look  upon  his  face, 
forgetting  everything  but  the  one  thing  which 
refused  to  be  shaken  off.  Long  after  Sylvia 
was  in  bed,  and,  as  he  thought,  asleep,  he  got 
up  and  went  out,  leaving  the  door  ajar.  In- 
stantly the  little  figure  upon  the  lounge  just 
under  the  window  lifted  itself  in  bed  and 
peeped  through  the  panes  to  see  if  he  might  be 
going  away.  Through  the  open  door  a  broad 
blaze  of  light  issued  that  fell  athwart  the  door- 
step, and  full  in  the  centre  of  it  she  saw  the  fig- 
ure of  her  father,  kneeling,  peering  under  the 
old  rock  step. 


UNDER    THE    DOORSTEP  197 

She  pretended  to  be  asleep  when  he  returned, 
and  soon  she  heard  him  snoring  over  in  his  bed. 
But  before  he  went  to  bed  she  saw  him  pick  up 
her  crutch  and  examine  it  carefully,  and  heard 
him  in  a  low  voice  again  make  a  promise  of 
rewarding  Joe. 

When  Sylvia  awoke  the  next  morning  Tom 
was  gone,  but  on  the  pillow  beside  her  lay  the 
big  golden  orange  that  Joe  had  sent  and  Tom 
had  forgotten  the  night  before. 

Joe's  gift;  she  had  many  tokens  of  the 
boy's  generous  nature.  Had  she  known  what 
her  friend  was  suffering  at  that  moment  she 
would  indeed  have  had  many  tears  to  shed 
for  him  —  poor,  unfortunate,  unhappy  Joe. 
Sitting  by  his  grandmother's  couch,  a  fright- 
ened look  upon  his  face,  and  a  strange,  hor- 
rible fear  at  his  heart,  begging,  her  not  to 
believe  it,  not  to  believe  he  was  a  thief,  could 
this  be  the  helpful,  honest  fellow  that  only 
yesterday  had  whistled  and  sung  in  the  win- 
ter woods  ? 

At  the  inn    the  excitement   still   prevailed. 


198  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Mr.  White  refused  to  have  the  boy  punished  or 
any  definite  charge  made  against  him  until  the 
house  and  barn  and  stage  coach  had  been 
thoroughly  searched. 

"  I'll  stripe  him  in  a  way  that  will  last  him 
till  he  dies,"  said  Bentley.  "  Stealin'  from  my 
guests  !  I'll  show  him.  He's  Lige  Bentley's  son, 
sir,  and  that's  enough.  He's  got  a  bad  name  for 
an  inheritance.  Lige  ware  a  born  law-breaker." 

"  Well,  he  must  be  proved  guilty  before  he  is 
punished,"  said  the  manufacturer.  "  He  hasn't 
the  bearing  of  a  rogue,  and  I  shall  give  him  a 
chance  ;  though  the  '  inheritance  '  is  against  him, 
I  admit." 

"  Inherits  a  bad  name."  Joe  heard  the  words 
and  again  his  heart  sank.  He  had  no  idea  of 
that  great  and  mighty  machinery  we  call  law  ; 
nor  how,  in  order  to  make  guilt  more  sure,  the 
first  step  is  often  to  prove  the  bad  character  and 
the  bad  ancestry  of  one  suspected.  Every  day 
he  lived  he  learned  more  surely  the  value  of  a 
good  name.  He  had  inherited  a  bad  one.  He 
thought  of  old  Jube  Jarvis  and  his  parting 


UNDER    THE    DOORSTEP  199 

advice,  and  burying  his  face  in  his  grand- 
mother's lap  Joe  shed  the  first  tears  that  had 
come  to  relieve  his  suspense. 

"  Nobody  don't  believe  me,"  he  sobbed. 
"  Everybody  thinks  I  took  the  money." 

"  Tliar's  one  as  knows  better  than  to  believe 
such,"  said  granny.  "  I  knows  you  didn't,  son, 
an'  don't  you  be  afeard.  Innocence  ain't  a-goin* 
to  suffer  long.  I'll  trust  the  good  Lord  for 
that." 

Her  faith  was  a  comfort  to  him ;  it  sent  him 
out  to  help  in  the  search  for  the  lost  money. 

"  I  ware  plumb  give  over  to  grief,"  he  told 
himself  as  he  crossed  the  yard.  "  I  forgot  I  had 
any  friends ;  I  forgot  granny,  an'  Tom,  too ; 
of  course  Tom  will  not  believe  'em." 

But  a  new  disappointment  awaited  him  at 
the  barn.  Tom  had  been  there  and  gone  home 
again,  after  hearing  about  the  loss  of  the  three 
hundred  dollars.  He  had  not  even  tried  to 
speak  a  word  of  comfort,  or  of  doubt  as  to  his 
guilt. 

"  Just  bolted  off   like  lightnin'  streck  him," 


200  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

one  of  the  men  who  had  congregated  with 
the  first  hint  of  excitement  told  Joe.  "  Lit 
out  like  he  ware  called  to  git  up  and  go  at 
once." 

It  was  true ;  Tom  had  been  over ;  he  came 
late,  though  he  had  left  home  early.  He  had 
stepped  into  the  barn  and  begun  feeding  the 
horses  when  Bentley  came  over  from  the 
house.  The  musty  old  barn  was  shadowy, 
even  in  daylight,  and  the  light  uncertain. 
Tom  had  stood  with  his  back  to  the  door  when 
Bentley  entered,  but  one  hand  was  in  the 
pocket  of  his  greatcoat,  tightly  clasping  the 
black  stock  of  a  pistol. 

"  Hello,  thar  !"  Bentley  had  called  in  a  voice 
that  made  the  brown  bridle  hand  fasten  itself 
more  closely  about  the  weapon  in  Tom's  pocket. 

"  Well,"  said  the  stage  driver,  "  I'm  here. 
No  need  o'  hurry,  I  reckon,  with  all  this  here 
snow  on  the  ground." 

"Hurry!"  exclaimed  Bentley,  angrily. 
"  Hurry  be  blasted !  Hain't  you-uns  heard 
how  that  thar  ungrateful  neffew  o'  mine's  gone 


UNDER   THE    DOORSTEP  201 

an'  robbed  a  passenger  out  o'  three  hundred 
dollars?" 

There  was  no  need  to  feign  surprise  now. 
Tom  actually  dropped  against  the  fodder  rack, 
gasping  and  frightened. 

"  Joe !"  said  he.  "  Surely  Joe  ain't  any 
thief.  Say,  now,  they  don't  s'pect  Joe  Bentley, 
surely  ?" 

"  But  they  do,"  said  Bentley,  with  an  oath. 
"  The  thievin'  little  rascal.  If  that  thar  money 
ain't  forthcomin'  in  an  hour  I'm  goin'  to  tee- 
totally  take  the  hide  off 'n  him  an'  then  have 
him  arrested." 

Tom  grew  sick  with  horror,  yet  he  made  an 
effort,  one  faint  effort,  in  Joe's  behalf. 

"  He  didn't  do  it,  Mr.  Bentley,"  he  declared. 
"  I  know  Joe  didn't  steal  nuthin'." 

"  Then  who  in  thunder  did  ?"  demanded  the 
innkeeper. 

"  I — I — why  I — don't  know,  Mr.  Bentley, 
but — not  Joe." 

"  Shut  up,  then,"  said  Bentley.  "  In  course 
Joe  done  it.  Ware  not  the  money  in  the  over- 


202  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

coat  pocket,  where  the  owner  put  it  just  before 
leavin'  the  stage  ?  He  took  it  out  to  divide  it 
on  the  way  down,  an'  Mr.  Thompson  took  half, 
bekase  it  ware  too  much  to  risk  in  a  heap.  An' 
when  the  storm  come  on  Mr.  White  crammed 
his  package  in  his  coat  pocket  for  a  minit  when 
the  stage  ware  swingin'  round  a  dang'rous 
curve,  an'  he  plumb  forgot  to  change  it.  Last 
night  he  saw  that  thar  boy  lay  in*  on  the  floor, 
whar  he  hadn't  no  business  to  be,  an'  he  got  up 
an'  flung  the  coat  over  him,  like  a  born  idiot, 
an'  this  morn  in'  boy  an'  money  ware  both  gone." 
"  Gone  !"  cried  Tom.  "Air  Joe  gone  ?" 
"Don't  be  a  fool,  Tom,"  said  Bentley. 
"  Whar'd  he  go,  I'd  like  to  know.  He's  goin' 
somewhars,  though,  an'  mighty  fast,  I  can  tell 
you,  if  that  thar  money  ain't  found  foreshortly. 
I've  come  down  here  to  overhaul  the  stage, 
bekase  that  thar  idiot  up  thar  won't  have  it  no 
other  way  but  that  thar's  some  mistake." 

Joe  suspected !  The  earth  seemed  turning 
upside  down  to  Tom  Tate.  Scarcely  knowing 
what  he  did  he  assisted  in  the  search  for  the 


UNDER    THE    DOORSTEP  203 

missing  wallet.  That  done — he  alone  under- 
stood how  useless  the  search  would  be — he  struck 
off  through  the  orchard  toward  home.  When  in 
sight  of  his  cabin  he  suddenly  whirled  around 
and  turned  off  into  a  by-path  leading  deep  into 
the  heart  of  the  woods.  He  wanted  time  to  think ; 
his  brain  was  on  fire,  his  heart  was  as  ice  in  his 
bosom.  He  had  forgotten  the  snow  and  the 
cold;  he  remembered  only  that  Joe  was  in 
distress ;  in  danger,  indeed,  for  Tom  knew  old 
Bentley  too  well  to  suppose  that  he  would  spare 
the  lad  who,  he  supposed,  had  brought  suspicion 
upon  his  house.  Joe,  who  had  done  so  much 
to  lighten  and  brighten  the  little  straitened 
life  in  the  cabin  among  the  cedars !  Tom  thought 
of  all  this  as  he  trudged  off  through  the  snow, 
away  from  himself  and  his  accusing  conscience. 
He  recalled  that  midnight  tramp  for  the  doctor 
when  Sylvia  was  sick ;  the  birds  he  had  trapped 
with  which  to  tempt  her  delicate  appetite ;  and 
the  crutch  upon  which  he  had  seen  her  hopping 
about  like  a  little  broken-winged  bird  that  had 
forgotten  everything  but  how  to  sing.  And 


204  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

tlien  Tom  remembered  the  fearful,  fateful 
package  under  the  old  stone  doorstep. 

"I  didn't  think  o'  this,"  he  groaned.  "I 
didn't  think  of  it  fallin'  upon  Joe  when  I  picked 
up  that  thar  wallet  lyin'  upon  the  floor  of  the 
stage  whar  that  rich  man  drapped  it.  I  didn't 
think  o'  trouble  to  nobody  ;  I  only  thought  o' 
my  little  suff  'rin'  one,  an'  how  the  rich  man 
would  never  miss  it.  An'  now,  what  can  I  do? 
To  fetch  it  back  means  the  prison  ;  to  keep  it 
means  everlasting  torture." 

Torture !  Aye,  if  an  outraged  conscience  can 
torture,  poor  Tom  must  feel  its  heavy  hand 
upon  him.  He  lifted  his  face  to  the  skies,  cold, 
leaden,  heavy  with  the  snow  clouds. 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !"  he  prayed, "  help  me,  help  me, 
help  me !" 

No  cry  in  time  of  temptation  ever  yet  failed 
to  reach  God's  ear,  or  to  have  His  help.  And 
to  Tom  help  came  straight  and  prompt  and 
perfect.  Instantly,  the  prayer  still  warm  upon 
his  lips,  he  turned  sharply  around  and  struck 
off  briskly  in  the  direction  of  his  home. 


UNDER   THE    DOORSTEP  205 

"  I'll  fetch  it  back  an'  own  up  square,"  said  lie, 
"if  it  kills  me." 

He  walked  straight  home ;  straight  to  his  own 
doorstep ;  and,  stooping,  slipped  his  hand  under 
the  old  rock  step.  The  next  moment  his 
startled  cry  of  alarm  rang  through  the  mountain 
like  the  cry  of  some  creature  in  pain. 

The  wallet  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CONFESSIONS 

TOM  TATE  had  resolved  to  return  home  and 
get  the  wallet,  which,  upon  the  impulse,  he  had 
concealed  and  appropriated,  and,  returning  it  to 
the  owner,  confess  his  own  part  in  the  transac- 
tion. It  was  his  first  crime,  and  was  done  upon 
impulse  with  the  needs  of  his  afflicted  daughter 
hearing  upon  his  heart.  He  had  not  considered 
how  his  own  sin  might  fall  unjustly  upon  some 
innocent  one ;  nor  yet  how  Sylvia  would  despise 
any  help  that  might  come  to  her  other  than  in 
an  honest  way.  For,  child  as  she  was,  Sylvia 
was  a  bravely  conscientious  little  soul.  But 
finding  the  wallet  gone,  Tom  found  himself  at  a 
loss  what  to  do.  Confess !  That  seemed  to  be  the 
only  thing  left  him,  since  it  was  the  only  thing 
that  would  clear  Joe.  He  did  not  give  himself 
time  to  consider,  but,  after  the  first  shock  of  sur- 
206 


CONFESSIONS  207 

prise  was  over,  he  went  into  the  house,  half 
hoping  some  one  might  by  accident  have  found 
the  money.  Though  this  he  regarded  as  hardly 
possible,  since  the  old  step  had  never  been  re- 
moved until  his  own  hand  had  made  it  a  hiding 
place  for  stolen  property.  The  money  had 
evidently  been  taken  away  by  some  one  who  had 
seen  him  place  it  there.  For  a  moment  his  heart 
grew  cold  with  fear.  Then  he  found  himself 
hoping  the  dreadful  secret  might  be  kept  from 
Sylvia  until  he  could  confess  it  with  his  own  lips. 

But  Sylvia  was  not  in  the  house.  To  his  de- 
mand for  her  his  sister  answered  with  a  stare : 
"  Why,  I  allowed  she  ware  a-sittin'  same  as 
common  in  the  room  thar." 

A  thorough  search  failed  to  find  her  ;  she  was 
gone ;  for  the  first  time  in  months  she  had  left 
the  house. 

"  You  didn't  meet  her,  I  reckon,"  said  Miss 
Tate,  "  as  you  come  along  ?" 

"  No,  I  come  the  long  way  ;  around  back, 
through  the  woods,"  said  Tom.  "  Surely  the 
child  has  not  set  out  through  this  snow." 


208  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  I  dunno  now,"  said  the  sister.  "  Jim  Byers's 
boy  rid  by  here  a  bit  ago  goin'  to  mill,  and 
stepped  in  a  minit  to  say  Joe  had  been  tuk 
up  for  stealin'  from  one  o'  the  stage  coach  pas- 
sengers last  night.  Silvy  ware  mightily  upset 
by  it ;  cried  consider'ble.  Though  we-uns 
knowed  it  ware  not  so.  We  knowed  Joe  Bent- 
ley  air  no  thief." 

Poor  Joe !  The  simple  words  would  have 
brought  comfort  indeed  to  his  bruised  heart  at 
that  moment,  as  he  sat  alone,  with  the  key 
turned  upon  him,  in  the  little  room  that  had 
been  his  grandmother's.  His  uncle  had  locked 
him  in.  Neither  Mr.  White  nor  Mr.  Thompson 
had  asked  that  it  be  done,  but  the  angry  Bentley 
had  determined  to  force  a  confession  from  the 
rebellious  boy,  Tom  went  back  to  the  Rock 
House  full  of  his  own  confession,  and  full  of 
uneasiness  as  to  Sylvia. 

"  She'll  take  her  death  o'  cold,"  he  told  him- 
self, as  he  trudged  along  through  the  snow. 
Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  she  might  only 
have  gone  to  the  house  of  a  neighbor  down  the 


CONFESSIONS  209 

road  a  piece,  and  he  turned  back  to  see  if  this 
should  be  so. 

"Just  proud  o'  bein'  able  to  walk  thar,"  was 
his  thought. 

Meanwhile,  matters  at  the  Rock  House  were 
growing  serious  enough.  A  constable  had 
come  in  and  the  house  had  been  thoroughly 
ransacked  for  the  missing  wallet. 

Mr.  Thompson  had  determined  to  make  a  last 
effort  to  get  Joe  to  confess  that  he  had  taken  the 
money.  He  went  into  the  room  where  the  boy 
had  been  confined,  and  locking  the  door  behind 
him,  drew  a  chair  over  into  the  corner  where 
Joe  sat  weeping. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  Joe,  my  boy,  this  is  a 
serious  business.  I  have  come  to  talk  to  you 
earnestly  about  it,  and  I  wish  you  to  talk  to  me, 
plainly,  Joe  and  freely ;  above  all  I  wish  you  to 
talk  to  me  truthfully." 

Joe  lifted  his  haggard  face ;  a  sullen  expres- 
sion had  come  into  the  eyes  that  had  looked 
on  life's  most  sombre  ways. 

"  I  ain't  got  anything  to  say,"  said  he,  "  any 
14 


210  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

more  than  I've  done  said.  You  can  believe 
it  or  no,  I  can't  help  it." 

"  Come — come  now,"  said  the  attorney,  "  I 
am  only  trying  to  help  you ;  you  must  meet  me 
half  way.  It  is  Mr.  White's  money  that  is 
missing,  not  mine.  Mr.  White  is  a  kind  man  ; 
he  was  once  a  very,  very  poor  boy  himself,  and 
has  a  deep  sympathy  for  boys  situated  as  he 
was.  His  shops  are  full  of  them  to-day.  He 
doesn't  wish  to  have  you  punished ;  indeed,  I 
am  sure  it  would  pain  him  very  much  to  be 
obliged  to  have  to  do  so.  He  only  wishes  to 
recover  his  money.  We  are  both  willing,  Joe,  to 
consider  your  youth  in  this  matter,  and  the  hard 
life  you  have  had.  We  are  willing  to  believe 
that  seeing  a  way  out  of  your  unhappy  situation 
you  were  tempted  beyond  your  strength." 

Joe  lifted  his  head  at  this,  an  angry  gleam  in 
his  eyes. 

"No,  sir,"  said  he,  "I  ware  not.  I  never 
ware  tempted  to  steal.  Never  !" 

In  spite  of  himself  Mr.  Thompson  found  it 
impossible  not  to  believe  in  the  unfortunate, 


CONFESSIONS  211 

hard-pressed  boy ;  still,  the  circumstances  were 
so  fearfully  against  him. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "  I  have  just  this  to  say  :  if 
you  will  go  quietly  and  get  the  wallet  and  hand 
it  to  me,  no  more  shall  be  said  about  it — not  a 
word.  If  you  refuse — why  there's  money  enough 
in  that  wallet  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiary, 
Joe." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Joe.  "  I  never  took 
nobody's  money.  I  never  stole  nothin'  in  my 
life,  as  I  knows  on.  If  I  have  to  go  to  prison 
for  nothin/  I  can  go.  I  reckon  it  can't  be  much 
worser'n  it  have  been  here." 

The  attorney,  a  man  accustomed  to  crime  and 
to  dealing  with  criminals,  felt  spring  to  his 
eyes  something  moist  and  warm,  that  slipped 
down  his  cheek  and  lay  like  a  silver  dew- 
drop  upon  his  hand  ;  a  bright,  sympathetic  tear. 
Yet  Joe  did  not  see  it;  and  since  the  voice 
speaking  to  him  lost  nothing  of  its  seriousness, 
he  did  not  suspect  that  his  forlorn  and  hopeless 
condition  had  awakened  in  the  stern  lawyer's 
bosom  a  quick  and  tender  sympathy. 


212  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

What  he  said  to  himself  was :  "  If  it  comes 
to  the  worst  I  shall  defend  this  boy  to  the  last 
moment,  without  a  cent  of  pay  or  a  hope  of 
reward."  What  he  said  to  Joe  was : 

"  Yes,  Joe,  it  is  a  good  deal  worse  than  this 
place.  The  penitentiary  is  a  place  where  few 
good  men  go  in,  and  fewer  come  forth ;  a  place 
where  boyhood  perishes  in  its  birth,  and  crime 
takes  hold  upon  the  throat  and  kills  the  life  of 
innocence ;  a  place  where  hope  dies  and  virtue 

stagnates ;  a  place  where  vice  sits  upon  a  throne 

i 

and  deals  out  poison  to  the  souls  about  her ;  a 
hovel  where  crime  and  pestilence  and  guilt  are 
bred;  where  virtue  and  peace  and  hope  die  upon 
the  instant.  Woe,  woe  to  the  boy  so  unfortunate 
as  to  find  an  entrance  there.  And  besides  all 
this,  Joe,  it  is  the  death,  the  very  death,  of  your 
good  name." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  that's  what  I  ware 
thinkin'  of.  That  air  the  hard  part.  I  promised 
— Jube — Jarvis — to — keep — a — good — name." 
And,  breaking  utterly  down,  poor  Joe  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands  and  sobbed  aloud. 


CONFESSIONS  213 

The  attorney  was  perplexed ;  there  was  not 
a  hint  of  guilt  about  this  boy,  yet  who  else 
could  have  touched  the  coat  ?  The  owner  did 
not  pull  it  off  until  after  supper,  for  the  old 
Rock  House  was  cold.  Suddenly,  with  a 
lawyer's  keen  instinct,  he  turned  to  Joe,  and 
said : 

"  Have  you  any  idea,  Joe,  as  to  who  might 
have  taken  the  money  ?" 

Joe  drew  quickly  back,  an  expression  of 
alarm  flitting  across  his  face. 

"  I  ain't  turned  track-hound  for  nobody,"  said 
he,  with  surly  reluctance.  "  I  ain't  tryin'  to  run 
nobody  down,  I  ain't." 

The  attorney  rose. 

"  Come  with  me,  sir,"  said  he.  Joe  did  not 
stir.  "  Come  with  me.  I  want  witnesses  to  this 
talk."  Still  Joe  did  not  move. 

Mr.  Thompson  stepped  to  the  door  and  beck- 
oned the  constable. 

"  Bring  that  boy  into  the  sitting-room,"  said 
he,  pointing  to  Joe. 

The  constable  stepped  briskly  across  the  room 


214  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

and  laid  his  hand  roughly  upon  Joe's  collar ;  the 
boy  struck  at  him  angrily. 

"  Stop,"  said  the  attorney  ;  "  no  violence  there, 
if  you  please.  You  have  no  warrant  yet ;  he  is 
still  my  prisoner,  not  yours.  You'd  best  come 
quietly,  Joe." 

Recognizing  the  folly  of  rebellion  Joe  followed 
the  men  into  the  sitting-room.  His  face  wore  a 
sullen,  determined  look  ;  he  had  resolved  not  to 
say  one  word.  At  the  best  he  had  only  a  sus- 
picion, and  he  was  resolved  not  to  say  a  word 
that  could  bring  further  trouble  upon  poor  little 
Sylvia. 

Quite  a  crowd  had  congregated  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  Bentley  was  charging  up  and  down 
the  room  declaring  he  was  an  honest  man  him- 
self and  meant  to  clear  his  house  of  rogues  even 
if  it  took  away  his  own  "  neffew."  In  the  midst 
of  his  tirade  the  men  entered  with  Joe. 

The  attorney  motioned  him  to  silence. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  have  brought  this 
boy  in  here  because  I  wish  to  talk  to  him  where 
all  may  hear  and  judge  for  themselves.  I  do 


CONFESSIONS  215 

not  believe  him  to  be  a  thief  by  nature,  but  this 
money  is  gone  and  circumstances  point  to  him 
as  the  guilty  party.  He  denies  the  theft.  Now, 
I  ask  him  before  this  company  if  he  has  any 
suspicion  as  to  who  did  take  the  wallet  belong- 
ing to  my  client."  He  stopped  and  looked  at 
Joe.  "  We  only  wish,"  he  added,  "  a  clue  to 
work  upon." 

But  Joe  stood  sullen  and  silent,  not  so  much 
as  lifting  his  eyes.  It  certainly  was  a  guilty  face 
they  saw  before  them  now,  with  all  the  first 
defiance  gone  out  of  it. 

"  You'd  better  answer,  Joe,"  said  the  lawyer. 
Still  not  a  word  from  the  accused  boy. 

"  Did  you  take  it  yourself?" 

Still  Joe  said  nothing ;  he  was  afraid  now  to 
so  much  as  protest  his  own  innocence,  lest  the 
quick-witted  lawyer  should  suddenly  fix  the 
guilt  upon  Tom. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  the  attorney,  "  I  must 
conclude  that  you  are  the  guilty  party,  and  shall 
have  to  ask  Mr.  White  to  swear  out  the  papers 
for  your  arrest." 


216  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

From  the  doorway  came  a  sharp  cry  of  pain  : 
"  He  didn't  do  it !  I  tell  you  Joe  Bentley  didn't 
steal  your  money  !  He  didn't  do  it,  I  tell  you !" 

All  eyes  were  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
voice.  There,  framed  in  by  the  gray,  weather- 
beaten,  old  door,  stood  Sylvia,  leaning  hard  upon 
her  crutch,  her  bright  hair,  tossed  by  the  wind, 
almost  concealing  the  pale  face  that  looked 
upon  them  from  such  startled  eyes.  She  sud- 
denly lifted  her  hand  high  above  her  head  and 
tossed  the  familiar  brown  wallet  into  the  midst 
of  the  group. 

"  Thar's  your  old  money !"  she  cried,  "  an' 
Joe  Bentley  never  touched  it ;  never  !" 

For  a  moment  there  was  intense  stillness ; 
then  a  voice  demanded  sharply  : 

"  If  Joe  Bentley  didn't  take  it,  who  did  ?" 

It  was  the  very  question  she  had  dreaded,  and 
for  which  she  had  tried  to  prepare  herself.  The 
thin  lips  twitched  spasmodically ;  the  little 
crutch  rolled  to  the  floor  and  Sylvia  staggered 
forward  blindly,  with  a  low  "  I  done  it ;  I  stole 
the  wallet." 


CONFESSIONS  217 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  manufacturer  that 
called  out  to  those  near  the  door : 

"  Catch  that  child,  somebody !"  and  a  pair 
of  burly  arms  were  opened  to  receive  her  as 
Sylvia  fell  forward. 

They  knew  at  once  that  she  had  not  committed 
the  crime ;  but  before  they  could  express  them- 
selves another  figure  had  darkened  the  old 
doorway.  The  figure  of  a  man,  who  strode  for- 
ward and  lifted  the  crippled  girl  in  his  arms, 
tenderly  stroking  the  white  temples.  When 
the  blue  eyes  looked  into  his,  with  their  familiar 
recognition,  he  turned  to  the  attorney  : 

"  I  be  the  man  you  air  after,"  said  he.  "  I 
took  the  wallet.  I  didn't  mean  to  take  it,  an* 
it's  the  first  thing  I  ever  did  take.  I  ware 
tempted  o'  Satan.  When  I  see  it  a-layin'  thar 
on  the  floor  o'  the  coach,  shaking  in  my  very 
face  all  the  hunderds  and  hunderds  o'  things  I 
could  git  for  my  'flicted  chil',  I  couldn't  help 
a-takin'  it ;  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  never  meant 
to  take  it ;  an'  I  never  meant  to  hurt  nobody 
else  by  it.  An'  this  moruin'  when  I  heeard  that 


218  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Joe  was  under  s'picion  I  went  home  to  fetch  it 
back  an'  s'render  both  it  and  myse'f.  An' 
when  I  looked  for  it  under  the  old  doorstep 
whar  I  had  hid  it,  it  ware  gone.  Then  I 
said  I'd  come  an'  clear  Joe  anyhow.  An', 
strangers,  I  have  come." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room,  save  for  a  sob 
from  the  corner  where  Joe  had  turned  away  to 
weep.  Granny  had  hobbled  in,  in  time  to  hear 
Tom's  confession.  Her  old  face  wore  its  familiar 
smile  of  perfect  faith  as  she  went  over  and  laid 
her  hand  on  Joe's  bowed  head. 

"  Your  granny  trested  you,  son,"  she  said,  in 
a  voice  meant  only  for  Joe's  ears.  "Allers 
reckerlect  that  no  matter  what  comes  to  you,  your 
old  granny  air  a-trestin'  o'  you.  A  boy  hain't 
got  any  right  to  disapp'int  them  that  trests  in 
him." 

"  The  little  gal  didn't  tetch  the  money, 
strangers,"  Tom  was  saying,  "  exceptin'  to  fetch 
it  back  to  you-uns.  She  ware  only  try  in'  to 
shield  me,  an'  to  cl'ar  Joe.  I  took  it ;  only  me. 
I  ain't  askin'  for  pardon,  gentlemen ;  I  only  ask 


CONFESSIONS  219 

you  to  look  at — that.     That's  what  tempted  of 
me." 

He  thrust  forward  his  big  bridle  hand,  and 
in  the  palm  of  it  lay  Sylvia's  little  twisted  foot. 

There  were  tears  in  more  eyes  than  Joe's  as 
the  little  foot  came  .to  view ;  the  great  lawyer 
blew  his  nose  with  unnatural  vigor ;  and  Mr. 
White,  in  the  sharp  voice  with  which  he  had 
bidden  some  one  catch  the  child  when  she  fainted, 
a  voice  meant  to  hide  his  emotion,  lifted  his 
walking  cane,  and  pointing  to  the  door  called  out 
to  Tom  : 

"  Take  that  child  home  and  care  for  her." 

Care  for  her !  That  meant  he  was  not  to 
be  prosecuted.  No  more  was  said  about  the 
wallet.  Humanity  is  humanity  after  all,  and 
full  of  the  beautiful  spirit  of  Christ.  Tom's 
lesson  had  been  quite  enough  for  him,  and  would 
do  its  own  work  without  further  molestation. 
But  the  stage  that  carried  the  attorney  and  his 
client  back  to  Knoxville  the  next  week  also 
carried  Joe.  The  manufacturer  had  obtained 
permission  of  granny  to  take  him  away,  and 


220  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

put  him  into  those  wonderful  shops  that  he  had 
already  learned  to  love. 

"  I'll  come  back  for  you,  granny,"  said  he 
at  parting.  "  I'll  come  back  for  you  some  day 
when  I  git  to  be  a  man,  see  if  I  don't." 

She  knew  better ;  she  knew  that  long  before 
Joe  could  have  accomplished  his  ambitions  she 
would  be  sleeping  under  the  quiet  shadows  of 
the  mountain.  A  hasty  visit  now  and  then  was 
the  most  she  could  hope  for.  But  she  smiled, 
happy  even  in  the  long  parting,  because  it  meant 
so  much  of  good  to  Joe.  So  she  smiled  and 
sent  him  off  with  her  blessing  and  her  love,  that 
would  follow  him  always,  to  the  very  end. 

She  knew  that  this  man  who  had  been  touched 
with  a  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  boy  treading 
the  hard  road  that  he,  too,  had  traveled,  would 
not  forget,  or  forbear,  to  point  out  the  dangerous 
places  along  the  way.  And  knowing  Joe's 
sturdy  and  honorable  nature  she  felt  that  she 
could  trust  him,  young  as  he  was,  to  go  into  the 
world  of  men. 

Sylvia  had  come   over   to   the  Rock  House 


CONFESSIONS  221 

to  say  good-bye ;  she  stood  leaning  upon  her 
crutch  in  the  doorway,  waving  her  hand  in 
a  last  farewell.  It  was  well  for  Joe  that  he 
could  not  see  the  tears  that  stood  in  Sylvia's 
eyes  as  she  shouted  to  him  in  the  old  familiar 
way : 

"  Good-bye,  Joe  ;  don't  forgit  the  mount'n  !" 
And  Joe,  seated  beside  his  new  friend  in  the 
lumbering  old  stage  coach,  made  to  himself  a 
promise  that  he  never,  never  would. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AMONG   NEW   SCENES 

IT  was  with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and 
of  pain  that  Joe  took  his  seat  in  Tom's  old  stage. 
Pleasure,  in  that  the  life  he  had  so  ardently 
desired  was  at  last  opening  before  him  ;  the  old 
hardships  were  done  with ;  injustice,  that  had 
rankled  in  the  boy's  heart  at  times,  would  dis- 
turb him  no  more.  Yet  he  was  not  without  his 
fears  as  well  as  regrets.  He  might  not,  after  all, 
be  fitted  for  the  life  before  him  ;  his  doubts  now 
were  all  of  himself,  his  own  worth  and  modest 
capacity.  And  then,  the  places  that  had  been 
the  scene  of  his  struggles  and  of  his  misfortunes 
had  become  dear.  The  grim  old  mountain  that 
had  looked  upon  every  hour  of  his  life  possessed 
a  sort  of  protection  after  all ;  its  shades  had  re- 
ceived many  of  his  boyish  confidences,  and  his 
tears  had  fallen,  bitter  drops,  upon  its  silent  ways. 
222 


AMONG   NEW   SCENES  223 

It  was  like  parting  from  his  mother  to  say  good- 
bye to  the  mountain.  Every  crack  of  Tom's  whip 
seemed  to  be  sweeping  him  miles  and  miles  away 
from  it. 

As  they  neared  the  bend  in  the  steep  where 
little  Sylvia  was  at  that  moment  watching  to  see 
the  stage  pass,  the  tears  started  to  his  eyes,  and 
turning  his  head  Joe  stealthily  drew  his  rough 
sleeve  across  his  face.  Tom  cracked  his  whip, 
the  stage  swept  around  the  curve,  and  his  moun- 
tain home  lay  behind  him,  passed  out  of  his 
life  forever,  save  for  such  influences  and  impres- 
sions as  it  had  left  upon  his  character.  But 
hardship,  if  well  directed,  is  a  wonderful  teacher; 
a  mighty  strengthener  of  mind  and  of  muscle, 
and  Joe  had  not  failed  of  its  benefits. 

The  parting  with  Tate  was  perhaps  the  hard- 
est of  all  to  Joe.  Not  that  he  loved  Tom  best, 
but  that  he  seemed  a  part  of  the  old  life,  and  so 
long  as  he  sat  there  on  his  box  cracking  his 
whip  and  shouting  to  his  horses,  the  old  life 
seemed,  to  some  extent,  to  be  going  along  with 
him.  But  after  a  few  hours'  travel  this  poor 


224  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

link  had  to  be  broken,  too.  The  stage  was  a 
trifle  late ;  it  reached  the  station  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  only  a  short  time  before  the  train 
was  bulletined  to  start.  It  was  all  ready  to 
go ;  the  engine  was  puffing  and  blowing,  the 
bell  ringing,  and  the  conductor  shouting  "All 
aboard !" 

Mr.  White  felt  rather  glad  there  was  so  little 
time  for  leave-taking ;  he  had  been  watching 
Joe  carefully  during  the  ride  down  the  moun- 
tain, and  he  understood  the  terrible  battle  the 
boy  was  having  with  his  first  homesickness.  It 
would  make  it  somewhat  easier,  therefore,  not 
to  linger  over  Tom's  farewell. 

So  he  hurried  Joe  into  the  car  and  found 
seats  for  his  party  while  his  attorney  attended 
to  the  tickets  and  secured  a  check  for  Joe's  box. 
And  Joe  passed  through  it  all  like  one  in  a 
dream ;  the  changes  came  so  often  and  so 
quickly  that  he  hdd  no  time  to  regret  one  event 
until  he  was  pushed  on  into  another. 

He  did,  however,  regret  Tom ;  why,  he  had 
not  so  much  as  shaken  hands  with  Tom ;  and 


HERE'S  YOUR  OLD  MONEY!"  SHE  CRIED 
(Page  217) 


AMONG   NEW   SCENES  225 

the  old  stage  driver  had  done  him  many  a  good 
turn,  despite  the  late  unhappy  incident  of  the 
stolen  pocket-book.  Moreover,  he  had  a  mes- 
sage to  send  to  granny  by  Tom.  Granny  would 
think  he  had  forgotten  her  already ;  that  his 
good  fortune  had  turned  his  head  at  the  very 
outset.  Now,  if  he  just  could  send  that  mes- 
sage back  to  the  mountain  ! 

Back  to  the  mountain  !  He  had  left  it  then, 
indeed,  since  it  was  "  back  "  to  the  mountain. 
At  the  thought  something  seemed  to  gather  in 
his  throat  and  choke  him. 

At  that  moment  some  one  tapped  upon  the 
window,  and,  turning  hastily,  he  saw  Tom's 
brown  face  pressed  against  the  glass.  Tom's 
mouth  was  working,  too,  and  his  breath  was 
marring  the  window  glass ;  but  Joe  couldn't 
hear  a  word.  The  engine  was  letting  off  steam, 
and  the  glass  effectually  deadened  the  sound 
of  his  voice.  Mr.  White  leaned  forward  and 
lifted  the  window,  and  in  an  instant  Joe  almost 
shot  out  of  it  into  Tom's  face. 

"  Good-bye,  Tom,"  said  he ;  "good-bye.  An'  I 
15 


226  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

want  you  to  promise  to  take  care  of  granny, 
Tom,  in-  my  stead ;  will  you  ?" 

This  was  the  promise  he  had  been  eagerly 
waiting  to  extract  from  Tate,  and  which  he  had 
been  so  near  missing. 

"  That  I  will,"  said  Tom.  "  I  gives  you  my 
word  for  it,  I'll  write  you  fair  and  square  all  that 
happens  to  her  whilst  you-uns  air  gone.  I  sha'n't 
forgit  you,  an'  I  sha'n't  forgit  that  thar  crutch." 

There  were  tears  in  Tom's  eyes,  but  Joe  did 
not  see  them. 

"  Never  mind  the  crutch,"  said  he.  "  May  be 
I'll  learn  to  do  better  things  than  that  bimeby. 
I've  got  a  chance  to  learn — " 

But  Tom  shook  his  head.  "  You  may  do 
bigger  things,"  said  he,  "but  your  hands'll 
never  turn  a  better  job  than  that  thar  little 
wooden  crutch  ;  because  it  ware  the  work  o'  love 
an'  pity.  I'll  allers  remember  you  by  that  thar 
crutch,  Joe  Bentley,  an'  so  will  Silvy." 

The  people  were  rushing  into  their  places ; 
evidently  the  train  would  be  moving  in  a  mo- 
ment. Joe  leaned  farther  out  the  window. 


AMONG    NEW    SCENES  227 

"  Tom,"  said  he,  "  if  I  ever  do  make  any 
money  I'm  goin'  to  send  Silvy  to  Fluridy.  You 
tell  her  so  for  me." 

"  All  right,"  said  Tom,  laughing  ;  "  and  she'll 
say,  '  this  crutch  air  as  nigh  Fluridy  as  I'll  ever 
git.'" 

But  for  once  Tom  was  mistaken  ;  evidently 
Sylvia  was  a  better  judge  of  human  nature  than 
Tom ;  for  when  he  delivered  Joe's  message  that 
night  Sylvia  did  not  so  much  as  smile ;  she 
merely  gathered  her  little  prop  under  her  arm 
and  said : 

"  Well,  he  will  if  he  can ;  that's  all." 

But  Tom,  making  his  good-byes  at  the  car 
window,  was  not  sorry  to  have  a  word  to  carry 
back  to  the  little  girl  whose  restricted  life  would 
indeed  be  lonely  enough  without  the  boy  whose 
good  heart  had  devised  so  many  plans  for  her 
amusement. 

"  I'll  tell  her,"  he  promised.  "  I'll  tell  her 
faithful,  and  I'll  write  you  what  she  says." 

The  train  began  to  move.  Tom's  brown 
bridle-hand  was  slipping  from  the  window-sill 


228  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

where  his  brown  fingers  held  Joe's  in  a  parting 
clasp. 

"  When  you  see  Mr.  Jarvis — tell — him — " 
the  message,  was  lost  in  the  rolling  of  the 
wheels.  But  at  the  last  moment  Joe's  head 
shot  out  the  window  again,  and  his  fresh  young 
voice  rang  out  above  the  confusion  and  bustle 
of  starting : 

"  Tell  granny  I've  been  well  all  this  time." 

Mr.  White  smiled.  How  long  the  hours  must 
have  been  to  the  boy  leaving,  for  the  first  time, 
his  first  and  only  home.  The  manufacturer 
glanced  at  his  watch.  They  had  left  the  Rock 
House  at  five  o'clock,  it  was  now  eleven  ;  to  Joe 
it  had  been  "all  this  time." 

"  Well,  Joe,"  said  he, "  we  must  begin  to  think 
about  getting  home  now." 

The  words  sent  Joe's  thoughts  off  in  a  new 
line,  and  soon  he  began  to  look  forward,  instead 
of  backward,  and  to  enjoy  the  strange  new 
country  through  which  they  were  passing.  The 
long,  low  levels  were  a  beautiful  wonder  to  him, 
and  the  rivers  seemed  sluggish  and  half  asleep 


AMONG    NEW    SCENES  229 

after  the  swift,  swirling  rush  of  the  mountain 
streams.  And  the  railroad  train  ;  he  had  seen 
it  at  a  distance  once  before.  But  this  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  been  in  one  of  the  hand- 
some coaches  with  their  trimmings  of  brass  and 
beveled  mirrors  reproducing  with  kaleidoscopic 
fascination  the  scenes  through  which  the  brave 
old  engine  was  dragging  them. 

Mr.  White  let  him  alone ;  he  understood  that 
the  boy  was  occupied  with  the  strangeness  of  his 
surroundings,  and  that  these  were  quite  enough 
to  fill  his  thoughts  for  the  moment.  But  as  the 
evening  drew  on  and  objects  outside  became  less 
distinct,  he  saw  the  little  old-young  face  pressed 
against  the  window-pane  begin  to  take  on  its 
former  expression  of  gloom.  For  an  hour  he 
sat  thus,  struggling  with  his  own  longings  and 
memories.  After  a  while  the  porter  came  in  and 
lighted  the  lamps,  but  Joe  paid  no  attention  to  it. 

The  travelers  had  made  their  last  change  of 
cars  and  were  entering  now  upon  the  coal 
regions  not  far  from  the  city  of  Knoxville. 
Mr.  White  had  been  talking  with  his  lawyer 


230  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

most  of  the  time,  but  he  never  once  lost  interest 
in  Joe's  battle  with  himself. 

Suddenly  he  "saw  the  boy's  face  brighten  ;  he 
half  rose  in  his  seat  and  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  wonder  and  delight. 

"  Well,  Joe,"  said  the  manufacturer,  "  what 
do  you  think  of  it  all  ?" 

They  were  passing  alongside  a  row  of  ovens, 
and  the  glow  from  the  burning  coke  streamed 
across  the  earth  and  the  sky,  lighting  up  the 
dark  blue  of  the  heavens  with  real  splendor. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  if  granny  could  only 
see  that.  It  air  surely  the  glory  of  God !" 

"  Manifested  through  His  works,"  said  Mr. 
White.  "  But  wait  until  you  see  the  big  fur- 
naces, Joe,  where  they  melt  the  iron  and  make 
it  into  bars  ;  then  you  will  realize  something  of 
the  goodness  of  God  in  storing  the  earth  with 
so  much  for  man's  use.  We  shall  be  at  home 
now  in  a  few  hours." 

At  home  !  It  sounded  so  good.  Joe  leaned 
his  head  against  the  back  of  the  seat  and  pic- 
tured to  himself  the  night  closing  in  upon  the 


AMONG    NEW    SCENES  231 

mountain.  Already  the  lamps  were  lighted,  or 
the  pine  knots ;  granny  was  knitting  in  the 
corner  of  the  fireplace ;  crickets  were  chirping 
under  the  old  rock  hearth.  Joe  was  fast  asleep. 

Mr.  White,  sitting  opposite,  studied  the  face 
before  him  carefully.  It  was  a  dark  face,  a  good 
deal  sunburned,  too,  and  thin  now,  almost  to 
gauntness.  But  that  defect  would  soon  right 
itself.  Those  little  drooping  lines  about  the 
mouth  might  disappear,  too,  in  time,  as  the  old 
life  gradually  weakened  in  his  memory.  The 
lips  were  set  in  a  way  that  indicated  strength, 
endurance  and  unyielding  purpose.  The  eyes,  he 
knew,  were  truth's  own.  His  impulses  were 
slow,  cautious,  but  once  decided,  nothing  could 
change  him.  But  that  which  troubled  his  bene- 
factor was  a  certain  mistaken  goodness  that 
would  allow  the  world  to  trample  upon  him — 
impose  upon  his  generous  nature. 

"  That  must  be  corrected,"  the  manufacturer 
told  himself.  "  Master  Jes  will  be  the  very 
first  one  to  take  advantage  of  that  weakness, 
unless  I  keep  a  sharp  lookout." 


232  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Then,  after  a  moment  of  silent  thought,  dur- 
ing which  he  again  made  a  careful  scrutiny  of 
the  face  lying  against  the  velvet  seat :  "  What 
a  splendid  foil  for  each  other,  Joe  and  Jes. 
Joe's  caution,  set  off  against  the  impulsive  dar- 
ing of  Jes ;  the  uncompromising  conscientious- 
ness of  one  against  the  inclination  to  shirk  in 
the  other ;  this  boy's  quiet  yielding  against  Jes's 
sturdy  aggressiveness ;  Joe's  doubts  against 
Jes's  unswerving  faith  in  himself.  They  are 
a  good  pair ;  my  boy's  quickness  will  stimu- 
late the  lagging  spirit  of  the  mountain  boy,  too. 
I  shall  watch  the  development  of  their  charac- 
ters with  peculiar  interest." 

Mr.  Thompson,  who  had  been  in  the  smoker, 
entered  at  this  moment,  and,  touching  the  man- 
ufacturer lightly  upon  the  shoulder,  said  : 

"  Getting  into  Knoxville,  sir." 

"  Into  Knoxville  ?  Why,  where  has  the  time 
gone?" 

The  attorney  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  We  are  due  at  seven  forty  ;  it  lacks  but  ten 
minutes  of  it.  Shall  I  call  Joe  up  ?" 


AMONG   NEW   SCENES  233 

Not  more  than  half  awake,  Joe  was  swept 
along  by  the  crowd  upon  the  platform  ;  it  was 
all  a  part  of  the  dream  he  had  been  dreaming 
when  Mr.  Thompson  awakened  him  ;  the  lights, 
the  shrieking  of  locomotives,  the  jangling  of 
street-car  bells,  and  the  cries  of  cabmen  calling 
for  passengers.  But  distinct  enough  he  heard 
the  low,  deep  voice  of  the  attorney  saying : 

"  There  is  your  carriage,  Mr.  White,  and  Mor- 
rison is  coming  for  your  satchel." 

A  tall  driver  stepped  forward,  relieving  the 
master  of  his  valise,  and  leading  the  way  to 
where  the  carriage  waited. 

He  had  not  noticed  the  strong,  rather  awk- 
ward-looking mountain  boy  following  at  his 
master's  side,  until,  reaching  the  carriage,  Mr. 
White  stepped  back  and  said : 

"  Come,  Joe ;  jump  in." 

Joe  dropped  back  among  the  soft  cushions, 
too  ignorant  and  too  innocent,  as  yet,  to  find 
anything  to  contrast  between  himself  and  his 
new  surroundings.  Mr.  White  spoke  to  his 
attorney : 


234  A  MOOXSHIXER'S  SON 

"  Get  in  with  us,  Thompson  ?" 

"  No,  there  is  my  car.  I'll  catch  it  and  go 
straight  home.  My  wife  will  feel  anxious. 
Good-night ;  see  you  to-morrow." 

Mr.  White  took  the  seat  by  Joe,  and  gave  the 
driver  his  orders. 

"  Home,  Morrison,  as  fast  as  you  can  get 
there.  I  am  as  hungry  as  a  bear,  and  as 
sleepy." 

Sleepy  he  might  be,  but  Joe  was  wide  enough 
awake  at  last,  and  keenly  alive  to  his  new  situ- 
ation. The  street  lamps  were  like  lost  stars, 
flitting  through  the  night;  aimless,  but  for 
their  one  duty  of  shining.  The  towering 
buildings  on  either  side  the  streets  seemed  all 
to  be  on  fire.  Mr.  White  explained  nothing ; 
he  was  not  much  of  a  talker  at  any  time,  and  he 
had  some  curiosity  to  see  how  the  great  change 
would  appeal  to  Joe.  Then,  too,  he  was  think- 
ing, as  this  boy  at  his  side  always  set  him 
thinking,  of  a  night  in  a  far-away  December 
when  another  boy  had  drifted  into  Knoxville,  a 
stranger  and  unused  to  the  city's  strangeness. 


AMONG    NEW    SCENES  235 

The  difference  between  the  two  was  slight, 
though  the  circumstances  were  different.  The 
other  boy  had  come  alone ;  strayed  in  from  out- 
side the  city,  where  he  had  either  wandered 
from,  or  been  deserted  by,  a  wandering  band  of 
gypsies.  Previous  to  his  life  among  the  gypsies 
the  boy  had  a  dim  recollection  of  a  tent,  a  ring, 
and  tiers  of  laughing,  shouting  people.  Then 
the  gypsies  came  along ;  how,  he  never  knew, 
but  he  afterward  learned  to  believe  that  the 
dull  and  timid  boy  was  a  burden  to  the  circus 
company  and  to  his  mother. 

He  glanced  at  the  face  at  his  side,  radiant  and 
wondering,  open  and  honest,  too,  as  the  good 
daylight ;  and  he  told  himself  that  the  boy  Joe 
had  at  least  one  good  branch  in  his  pedigree. 

"  That  counts  for  much,"  he  whispered  in  his 
own  heart.  "  If  I  had  had  a  good  mother — " 

There  flitted  before  his  mind  the  vision  of  a 
light,  lithe  creature  leaping  through  space  and 
alighting,  amid  the  yells  of  a  coarse  multitude, 
upon  the  back  of  a  flying  steed. 

He  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  picture,  if 


236  A  MOONSHIXER'S  SON 

might  be,  and  fell  to  thinking  of  that  far-away 
December  night  when  he  had  strayed  into 
Knoxville,  and  had  chanced  to  knock  at  the 
right  door.  Chanced  ?  No,  he  did  not  believe 
that  such  chances  could  be.  He  had  lived  to 
tell  himself  that  it  was  God's  own  hand  had  led 
him  that  night  to  the  door  of  the  good  woman 
who  had  taken  him  into  her  home  and  her 
heart,  and  had  made  indeed  a  son  of  him. 

The  carriage  drew  up  to  a  tall,  dark  house, 
with  shutters  carefully  drawn,  and  stopped. 
But  when  the  coachman  ran  lightly  up  the 
steps  and  rang  the  bell,  the  opening  of  the  door 
let  out  such  a  sudden  dash  of  warm,  rich  light 
that  for  a  moment  Joe  was  quite  blinded  by  the 
brightness. 

A  moment  later  the  blistered  and  bruised 
feet,  so  often  torn  with  the  stones  upon  the 
mountain's  side,  sunk  gratefully  and  restfully 
into  the  softly-padded  carpet  of  his  new  home. 
He  stood  alone  for  a  moment  in  the  great  hall- 
way with  only  Mr.  White,  who  was  removing 
his  overcoat.  Joe  tried  to  express  something 


AMONG   NJEW   SCENES  237 

of  the  gratitude  he  felt,  but  he  did  not  find 
speech  so  easy  to-night. 

"  I  know  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  I'd  ought  to 
thank  you  for  all  you've  done,  but  you  see  I 
never  see  anything  like  all  this  in  my  life ;  an' 
somehows  it  appears  like  I  can't  think  o'  no 
words  to  say." 

"  Well,  Joe,"  said  Mr.  White,  "  the  way  to 
show  your  gratitude  is  to  endeavor  to  be  happy 
in  my  house,  and  to  improve  the  opportunities 
that  have  come  to  you." 

There  was  a  rush  of  footsteps  coining  down 
the  stairs,  and  a  voice  in  remonstrance,  mingled 
with  the  high,  distinct  tones  of  a  boy's  voice  in 
angry  defiance.  The  next  moment  a  boy's  figure 
came  bounding  down  the  steps ;  a  straight, 
slight  little  figure,  and  graceful  as  a  deer,  clad 
in  a  suit  of  soft,  clinging  black,  with  a  bright 
scarlet  tie  at  the  throat,  and  about  the  delicate 
temples  golden  locks,  that  clung  to  the  pretty 
round  head  with  girlish  grace. 

The  figure  came  down  the  broad  steps  two  at 
a  time,  but  with  the  last  bound  landed  lightly 


238  A  MOONSHINEE'S  SON 

and  defiantly  face  to  face  with  the  master  of  the 
house  and  his  new  protege. 

Behind  him,  coining  decidedly  more  slowly, 
was  a  tall,  slender  lady  with  white  hair,  and 
wearing  an  expression  of  deep  annoyance.  A 
flush  overspread  the  lady's  face  when  she  found 
herself  so  suddenly  ushered  into  the  presence  of 
the  master  of  the  house,  and  she  opened  her  lips 
to  speak  ;  hut  the  young  athlete  was  hefore  her. 
He  lifted  his  eyes — such  pleading,  roguish  eyes 
they  were,  yet  withal  not  without  a  trace  of 
melancholy,  too,  to  the  master's  face. 

"  May  I  not  stay,  sir  ?  May  I  not  sit  up 
a  while  with  you  and  the  new  boy  ?  Morrison 
said  at  noon  that  a  telegram  had  come  ordering  a 
room  for  a  new  boy.  I  haven't  seen  a  boy  in  this 
house  since  I  have  been  in  it,  and  I  just  couldn't 
go  to  bed.  I  have  told  Mrs.  Mallory  I  am  not  a 
baby  to  be  tucked  into  a  crib  at  eight  o'clock." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  the  lady  interposed,  "  I  am 
ashamed  to  be  the  cause  of  such  a  stormy  wel- 
come, but  he  is  not  well.  Just  feel  his  hands, 
sir,  and  see  how  fevered  he  is." 


AMONG    NEW   SCENES  239 

But  the  boy  clasped  his  hands  behind  him 
angrily. 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  sick,"  he  replied.  "  I 
won't  be  sick." 

And  that  one  expression,  "  I  won't  be  sick," 
was  the  key  to  Jes's  character. 

"  Come !  come  !"  said  the  master,  "  alter  your 
tone,  my  little  man,  then  I  am  ready  to  talk  to 
you.  Mrs.  Mallory,"  turning  his  back  upon 
Jes  and  addressing  the  housekeeper,  "  this  is  the 
young  gentleman  for  whom  I  telegraphed  you 
to  have  a  room  in  readiness.  I  found  him  in 
the  mountains.  Bentley  is  his  name,  and  he 
will  henceforth  be  one  of  the  family.  Joe, 
come  here  and  shake  hands  with  my  house- 
keeper." 

The  lady  took  the  extended  hand,  holding  it 
a  moment  between  her  own,  and  saying  some 
gentle  word  of  welcome.  Joe  never  knew  what 
it  was  she  said,  or  what  he  said  in  reply.  His 
eyes,  as  well  as  his  thoughts,  were  given  entirely 
to  the  boy,  Jes,  the  handsome  young  fellow  who, 
now  quiet  enough,  was  regarding  him  with  a 


240  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

sort  of  stare  that  held  both  surprise  and 
pleasure. 

Then,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Joe  felt 
conscious  of  his  own  awkward  limbs  and  his 
rough,  outgrown  clothes.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  understood  what  a  beautiful  specimen 
of  freshness  and  of  grace  a  boy  could  be0  And 
good  breeding,  too  ;  for  despite  his  stormy  intro- 
duction, Jes  did  not  show  the  slightest  amuse- 
ment, or,  what  might  have  hurt  more,  pity  for 
the  odd,  old-fashioned  figure  which  Joe  at  once 
realized  he  must  have  presented  in  his  short 
pantaloons,  showing  several  inches  of  coarse  yarn 
stocking,  and  the  sleeves  reaching  half  way  to 
his  elbow.  But  if  Jes  saw  the  coarse  shoes,  the 
rumpled,  unbleached,  unstarched  shirt,  or  the 
patched  elbows  of  Joe's  jeans  jacket,  he  gave  no 
sign.  Jes,  in  truth,  saw  a  boy— that  was  all ;  to 
Jes  it  was  quite  enough. 

He  waited  for  his  uncle  to  offer  some  sort  of 
introduction,  or  to  say  more,  at  any  rate ;  but 
when  he  saw  him  going  off  to  the  library  with- 
out another  word,  he  could  stand  the  uncer- 


AMONG    NEW    SCENES  241 

tainty  no  longer,  and  burst  out  in  his  impulsive 
way: 

"  Is  he  going  to  stay  ?  Oh,  uncle,  I  do  hope 
he  is  going  to  stay."  Then,  as  the  master  said 
nothing :  "  Say,  are  you  going  to  live  with 
us,  boy  ?  Have  you  truly  come  to  stay  ?" 

Joe  looked  helplessly  at  Mr.  White,  but  that 
gentleman  was  talking  to  the  housekeeper,  and 
Joe  was  left  to  speak  for  himself. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  in  his  most  pronounced  moun- 
tain drawl,  "  I  reck-in  so." 

"  Then  don't  say  '  reckin,'  "  said  Jes,  prompt- 
ly ;  "  say  '  suppose.'  Oh,  we  will  have  a  great 
time  now,  uncle !" 

Mr.  White  smiled ;  his  nephew's  delight  in 
the  new  member  of  the  household  pleased  him, 
as  did  Jes's  manner  of  ignoring  the  new  boy's 
appearance.  Had  he  really  not  observed,  he 
wondered,  or  was  he  simply  too  kind  to  appear 
to  notice?  There  were  some  good  qualities 
about  Jes;  some  very  good  traits  indeed.  To 
his  predictions  of  a  "  good  time "  the  master 
replied : 
16 


242  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Well,  we  will  see  about  that.  All  depends 
upon  how  you  treat  each  other.  Now,  Mrs. 
Mallory,  some  supper,  and  when  we  have  eaten 
I  am  going  to  send  these  young  gentlemen  off 
to  the  library  to  get  acquainted  with  each  other. 
Wouldn't  you  like  that,  Joe  ?" 

"  I  reck — suppose  so,  sir,"  said  Joe.  The 
master  of  the  house  again  smiled ;  he  had 
noticed  Jes's  correction  of  the  new  boy's  speech, 
and  he  chuckled  as  he  went  off  to  his  room 
before  going  in  to  supper,  and  told  himself  that 
"  Jes  would  root  out  that  dialect  in  less  than  a 
mouth." 

After  supper  he  sat  in  his  own  little  study, 
seeing  through  the  open  door  leading  into  the 
library  the  two  boys,  seated  side  by  side  before 
the  fire,  "  getting  acquainted  "  after  their  own 
boyish  ideas.  What  a  contrast  they  presented ; 
the  brown,  sturdy  mountain  fellow,  more  than 
two  years  younger  than  the  white,  delicate 
boy  of  the  city.  Their  very  clothes  indi- 
cated the  contrast  of  their  characters ;  the 
gray  jeans  and  the  soft  black  cloth.  But  Mr. 


AMONG    NEW    SCENES  243 

White's  eye  saw  deeper  than  the  clothes  when 
he  whispered  to  himself: 

"  The  mountain  boy  has  had  the  better 
chance.  But  Jes  has  his  fine  traits,  too ;  his 
nature  would  not  have  brooked  the  schooling 
that  Joe  has  had,  but  he  will  imbibe  much  of 
the  mountaineer's  strength.  And  he  will  bring 
that  country  boy  out  like  a  piece  of  polished 
silver — unless  the  boy  permits  him  to  lord  it 
over  him,  and  so  forfeits  Jes's  respect." 

The  housekeeper  tapped  lightly  at  the  door 
opening  off  the  hall,  and  to  Mr.  White's  "  Come 
in,"  she  entered  and  asked  if  Jes  had  not  best 
be  sent  to  his  room. 

"  He  has  been  feverish  for  two  days,"  she  ex- 
plained. "And  yesterday  he  was  in  bed  the 
most  of  the  day." 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  let  him  alone.  Per- 
haps his  own  determination  not  to  be  sick  is  the 
best  medicine  after  all.  Sit  down,  Mrs.  Mai- 
lory  ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  moment  about 
this  new  boy  who  has  come  among  us.  I  wish 
to  tell  you  the  whole  sad  story  of  his  life,  so  that 


244  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

you  will  feel  and  show  for  him  the  same  kind 
affection  and  care  that  you  have  given  my 
nephew.  But  first,  I  wish  to  ask  you  to  look 
after  some  more  suitable  clothes  for  him.  I 
should  like  a  suit  for  him  to  put  on  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  another,  which  can  he  procured  later, 
for  better  wear.  I  am  going  to  take  him  into  the 
shops  at  once — next  week.  Next  year  he  must 
go  to  school ;  this  year  I  shall  leave  him  to  Jes, 
however.  Jes  will  teach  him  more  than  he  will 
get  at  any  school  just  now.  Moreover,  it  would 
do  him  more  harm  than  good  to  be  dropped 
down  into  a  city  school  at  his  age,  not  knowing 
how  to  read  and  write ;  indeed,  not  knowing  how 
to  talk,  you  might  say.  He  has  been  unfortunate, 
particularly  unfortunate,  Mrs.  Mallory.  And 
finding  him  situated  as  he  was,  with  the  true 
nobility  of  character  that  he  possesses,  I  felt  it 
my  duty,  no  less  than  a  desire,  being  a  bachelor 
with  plenty,  to  rescue  and  place  in  a  position 
where  it  could  pass  something  of  its  greatness 
on  to  others  this  fine,  promising  character." 
Then  and  there  he  told  Mrs.  Mallory  Joe's 


AMONG    NEW    SCENES  245 

story.  When  he  had  finished  the  good  woman 
was  drying  her  tears. 

"  Poor  boy,"  said  she ;  "  poor  boy.  I  hope 
we  shall  not  find  him  either  too  sensitive  or  too 
dull,  sir.  Boys  brought  up  like  that  are  apt  to 
be  one  or  the  other.  There,  sir !  Are  they  quar- 
reling already  ?" 

Through  the  open  door  came  the  sound  of 
a  voice — Jes's  voice,  shrill  and  indignant. 

"  Well !"  said  he,  "  I  should  think  you  cer- 
tainly would  be  ashamed  of  yourself;  that  I 
should." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FIRST    LESSONS 

THE  acquaintance  in  the  library  was  pro- 
gressing. After  the  supper,  which  to  Joe  had 
been  only  a  part  of  the  glitter  and  confusion  of 
the  last  two  days,  Mr.  White  had  led  his  charge 
to  the  library,  where  Jes  was  awaiting  them 
curled  up  among  the  silken  pillows  on  the  sofa. 
He  rose  promptly  when  they  appeared,  and  said : 

"  Uncle,  I  think  I  must  have  been  very  rude 
to  Mrs.  Mallory  to-night,  and  I  am  going  at 
once  and  apologize.  I  have  been  thinking  about 
it  all  this  time,  and  now  I  know  I  was  wrong." 

Mr.  White  laid  his  hand  upon  Jes's  little 
round  head,  stroking  the  short  curls  tenderly. 

"  Oh,  Jesse !  Jesse !"  said  he,  "  if  you  only 

would  learn  to  do  your  thinking  first;  your  sober 

second  thought  is  always  so  true ;  you've  got  to 

look  out  for  those  ugly  impulses,  my  boy.     Go 

246 


FIRST    LESSOXS  247 

on  now,  and  set  yourself  right ;  then  come  back, 
I  wish  you  to  show  Joe  over  the  house.  His 
room  opens  off  your  own  ;  show  him  that.  Then 
when  you  are  through  you  may  sit  a  while  here 
together,  if  you  like." 

If  they  "  liked."  The  master  smiled  as  he 
saw  them  run  off  together,  so  unlike  in  every 
particular  save  the  bounding,  boyish  heart  in 
the  bosom  of  each.  He  was  glad,  indeed  he  felt 
rewarded  already,  that  he  had  brought  them 
together ;  then,  as  he  turned  away  to  his  study 
he  thought  again  of  that  night  when  he  first 
strayed  into  Knoxville.  There  was  nobody  there 
to  take  off  the  newness  of  that  night  but  a  lady, 
a  good,  good  woman,  and  a  frail  little  girl,  who 
had,  years  afterward,  developed  a  wonderful 
voice,  and  who  had  become  Jes's  mother.  They 
had  called  each  other  "  brother  "  and  "  sister," 
and  had  loved  each  other  as  such.  And  when 
she  died  she  gave  him  her  boy  to  father.  The 
boy  was  "  the  mother's  own  self  again,"  he  had 
told  himself  many  times. 

At  that  moment  the  boy  was  enjoying  him- 


248  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

self  not  a  little  in  piloting  Joe  over  the  big  house. 
The  rooms  were  so  large  and  so  beautiful ;  Joe 
would  have  lingered  in  each,  but  that  Jes  hur- 
ried him  along  until  they  stood  in  Joe's  own 
special  apartment.  And  all  the  time  the 
mountain  boy  was  admiring  the  beautiful  things 
about  him  he  was  thinking  of  granny,  fast  asleep 
by  this  time,  in  the  leaky  old  Rock  House  far 
away  up  on  the  mountain.  Everything  was  so 
strange  ;  there  wasn't  a  thing  in  all  his  surround- 
ings that  touched  in  any  way  his  life  among  the 
hills.  Only  his  rough  jacket  and  short  old  trou- 
sers seemed  natural.  He  glanced  at  his  frayed 
sleeve  and  unconsciously  patted  the  patch  granny 
had  set  there  preparatory  to  his  going  away.  And 
right  there  he  resolved  that  he  would  keep  that 
little  old  patched  jacket  as  long  as  he  lived,  so 
much  of  granny's  love  and  patience  seemed  to 
have  been  stitched  into  it.  And  he  resolved 
that  should  he  ever  make  any  money  of  his 
own  that  she  should  know  what  it  was  to  have 
nice,  comfortable  things,  too. 

"  This  is  the  gas."     Jes  was  rattling  off  his 


FIRST    LESSONS  249 

information  at  a  great  rate.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
any  gas  ?  Because  if  you  didn't  you  might  get 
yourself  smothered." 

Involuntarily  Joe  stepped  quickly  back  from 
the  little  harmless-looking  jet  of  flame.  But  Jes 
didn't  laugh,  not  once. 

"  Do  it  burn  iron  ?"  said  Joe.  "  Is  the — the 
iron  stick  a-burnin'  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Jes,  "  it  is  gas ;  it  comes  up  through 
that  iron  pipe,  and  when  you've  got  enough  of 
it  you  just  whisk  it  off — so."  Jes  suited  the 
action  to  the  word,  much  to  the  country  boy's 
wondering  delight.  "And,"  he  went  on,  after 
getting  hold  of  a  match,  "  you  light  it — so."  And 
again  the  little  flame  shot  up  from  the  pipe. 

"  I  suppose  you  burn  lamps  in  the  moun- 
tains?" said  Jes. 

"  Lamps  an'  pinuts,"  said  Joe.  "  At  the  Rock 
House  thar — " 

"Say  'there,'"  Jes  interrupted.  "Don't 
ever  say  '  thar.'  And  what  in  the  world  are 
'  pinuts '  ?" 

"  Pinuts  come  out   o'   the  woods,"  Joe  ex- 


plained.  "  Granny  used  to  burn  'em  mostly. 
They  air  fat  chunks,  yon  know,  off'  the  pine 
trees.  Knots,  an'  they  burn  toler'ble  fair  of  a 
cold  night." 

"  Oh,"  said  Jes.  "  You  must  say  pine  knots, 
not  '  pinuts.'  Now  we  will  go  down  and  see 
the  best  of  all — the  books." 

When  Joe  had  carefully  scanned  the  long, 
well-filled  shelves  in  the  library,  his  guide  threw 
back  the  glass  doors  of  a  smaller  case  and  ex- 
claimed exultantly  : 

"  These  are  mine,  every  one  of  them.  Shall 
we  read  now  ?" 

He  drew  from  the  shelf  a  story-book,  hand- 
somely bound  and  illustrated ;  and  curling  him- 
self up  on  the  sofa  made  room  for  Joe  beside 
him.  Suddenly  he  chanced  to  look  at  Joe's 
face ;  the  book  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  fell 
to  the  floor ;  the  disappointment  was  too  great. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  don't  you  like  books  ?" 

Joe  blushed  and  stammered ;  he  was  awk- 
ward and  ashamed  enough  now,  with  this  boy's 
eyes  watching  him  so  intently. 


FIRST    LESSONS  251 

"  Yes,  I  like  'em,  I  reck — suppose.  I  ain't 
never  see  any." 

Jes  literally  bounded  to  his  feet. 

"  Never  saw  any  books  !"  said  he.  "  Why, 
then,  can't  you  read  ?" 

Feeling  himself  almost  as  criminal  as  when  he 
had  hauled  apples  to  the  illicit  still  in  the  moun- 
tains, poor  Joe  stammered : 

"  No,  I  can't  read." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Jes  turned  from 
him  in  disgust,  and  his  voice  rang  out  so  that 
his  words  reached  the  two  in  the  study : 

"  Well !  I  should  think  you  certainly  would 
be  ashamed  of  that ;  so  I  should." 

"  I  am,"  was  the  low  reply.  "  I  am  mightily 
ashamed  of  it." 

"  Well,  then,  why  didn't  you  learn  ?" 

"  There  ware  no  learnin'  places  where  I  ware 
born." 

"  No  schools  !  Do  you  mean  there  were  no 
schools  ?" 

Joe  nodded. 

"  Nairy  blessed  one." 


252  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Jes  forgot  the  dialect  in  his  surprise. 

"No  schools!  Well,  then,"  said  he,  "you 
needn't  be  ashamed  at  all,  since  it  is  not  your 
fault,  and  you  cannot  help  it.  That  which  we 
can't  help  is  our  misfortune.  I  am  sorry  I 
spoke  so  quickly.  Would  like  for  me  to  read 
to  you  ?" 

Dear,  honest,  impulsive,  generous  Jes !  Quick 
to  err  and  as  quick  to  undo.  There  was,  as  his 
uncle  said,  much  that  was  beautiful  and  good  in 
Jes. 

The  two  boys  curled  themselves  up  again  on 
the  sofa — gray  jeans  and  handsome  broadcloth, 
polish  and  simplicity — side  by  side,  so  close  that 
ere  long  the  two  heads  were  pressed  together, 
and  a  rough,  hardly-used  hand  united  with  a 
soft,  girlish  palm  in  supporting  the  big  book's 
back. 

For  nearly  an  hour  the  reading  went  on,  and 
then  Jes,  grown  weary,  closed  the  book. 

"  Oh,  don't  stop,"  Joe  begged.  "  Don't  stop 
yit.  Please  don't  stop  readin'  of  it  yit." 

Jes  regarded  him  steadily. 


FIRST    LESSONS  253 

"  Say  '  reading,' '  said  he,  "  not  '  readin';' 
and  never  say  '  yit.'  It  is  y-e-t — yet.  No,  I  am 
tired  now  ;  I  wasn't  very  well,  you  know.  But 
I  say,  would  you  like  to  learn  to  read  ?" 

"Would  I?  Well,  now,  I  would  just  rather 
learn  to  read  as  to  do  anything  in  this  world." 

"  Well,"  said  Jes,  "  I'll  teach  you  to  read  if 
you  like.  And  say>  you  mustn't  mind  my  cor- 
recting, you  know,  because  you  must  learn  to 
talk  properly." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Joe.  "  And  I 
certainly  will  be  glad  to  learn.  I'll  do  some- 
thing for  you,  too,  some  time.  Granny  allers — " 

"  Always." 

"  Always  said  the  time  ware — " 

"  Was." 

"  Was  sure  to  come  when  we  could  return 
favors,  and  I  'most  know  it'll  come  to  us.  But 
will  we  have  time  to  learn?" 

"  Why,  we've  got  every  night,"  said  Jes. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  I'd  have  to  work  nights," 
said  Joe.  "  I  used  to  work  nights  at  the  Rock 
House." 


254  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Oh,  you  poor  boy,  you,"  said  Jes.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  truly  know  what  it  is  to  really  rest 
and  be  happy." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Joe.  "  I  used  to  rest  some- 
times on  the  mountain  while  old  Kit  cropped 
the  grass.  I'd  just  lay  back  flat  on  the  ground 
watcliin'  the  clouds  floatin'  by  overhead,  and 
list'nin'  to  the  flow  of  water  through  the  laurel, 
so  easy  and  gurglin'  like,  sorter  singing  there  in 
the  wilderness  ;  and  I  felt  that  rested  and  happy 
I'd  sometimes  drop  off  to  sleep  and  not  wake  up 
any  more  until  Kit  would  rub  her  cold  nose 
into  my  face.  Then  I'd  jump  up  and  find  the 
moon  risin'  over  the  mountain,  and  the  water 
still  singin'  in  the  laurel  as  sweet  and  sassy 
like.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  water  running 
through  a  laurel  brake  ?" 

It  was  Jes's  turn  to  acknowledge  ignorance. 
He  said  "  No,"  but  at  the  same  time  he  got  up 
and  went  over  to  the  piano,  where  he  seated 
himself,  and,  slipping  his  slender  fingers  along 
among  the  white  keys,  said : 

"Is  it  like  this?" 


FIRST    LESSONS  255 

Joe  listened  spellbound  to  the  little  rippling 
runs  and  trills.  When  he  finished  Jes  looked 
around  to  find  his  listener  silently  weeping. 
The  awkward,  overgrown  boy  attempted  to 
justify  his  emotion. 

"  It  did  sound  so  like  the  water  slippin'  down 
the  mountain  through  the  laurel,"  said  he. 
"  Somehow  it  made  rne — feel — feel — I  don't 
know  just  how." 

Jes  got  up  softly  and  closed  the  piano. 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,"  said  he.  "  It  makes 
me  cry,  too,  sometimes.  My  mother  was  a  great 
singer,  and  she  caught  fire  one  night  while 
singing  in  a  big  theatre  and  was  burned  to 
death.  She  didn't  die  until  the  next  day,  but 
they  never  let  me  see  her.  My  father  had 
wasted  all  her  money  and  had  died,  and  she 
wouldn't  come  and  live  with  uncle  because  he 
was  against  her  marrying.  But  they  brought 
her  here  that  night,  and  she  died  in  this  house. 
Her  coffin  stood  right  there  by  the  window.  It 
was  white,  and  all  buried  under  scarlet  roses. 
She  loved  the  red  roses  always,  you  see.  Be- 


250  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

fore  she  died  she  called  my  uncle  and  gave  him 
me ;  what  she  said  was  :  '  Take  care  of  my  baby, 
Ralph.'  I  was  a  little  fellow  then.  But  I 
remember  it,  and  music  always — seems — to — 
ch-o-ke— " 

"  I  know,"  said  Joe ;  "  that's  the  way  it  did 
me.  You  ought  to  be  glad  to  remember  your 
mother,  though,  even  if  it  does  make  you  cry. 
I  don't  remember  mine,  but  I  know  she  was  a 
good  woman.  And  I've  got  a  good  granny,  too. 
But  I  reckon  my  father  done  worse  than  waste 
money." 

And  then  Joe  told  Jes  the  story  of  his  life ; 
of  the  lonely  rides  before  daylight,  and  of  ^he 
danger,  the  deadly  danger,  ever  lurking  over 
the  illicit  distillers. 

When  he  finished  Jes  said  : 

"  Weren't  you  awfully  afraid  ?  Going  along 
in  the  dark  that  way  with  only  an  old  mule  for 
company  ?  I  should  think  you'd  been  fright- 
ened almost  to  death  in  the  dark  that  way." 

"  No,"  said  Joe,  "  I  was  only  afraid  of  the  sin 
of  it  all.  Granny  always  said  that  sin  is  the 


FIRST    LESSQXS  257 

only  thing  a  boy  need  be  afraid  of  in  this  world. 
And  it's  so;  there  ain't  anything  else  to  hurt 
us,  just  only  sin.  Is  your  name  White  ?" 

"  That's  what  they  call  me  ;  yes.  I  took  my 
uncle's  name ;  he  took  my  grandmother's ;  so  I 
have  only  taken  my  own  mother's  name,  after 
all." 

"Boys!  Boys!     Bed-time." 

Mr.  White  had  looked  in  several  times  and 
hesitated  to  interrupt  the  growing  acquaintance 
until  the  hands  upon  the  study  clock  pointed  to 
eleven.  "Joe  isn't  accustomed  to  hours  like 
these  ;  you  must  teach  Jes  how  to  go  to  bed  and 
to  sleep  at  a  reasonable  hour,  too,  sou." 

Son !  The  word  had  a  magical  meaning  for 
poor  Joe.  Long  after  reaching  his  own  room 
the  echo  of  the  pleasant  word  lingered  in  his 
heart  like  a  benediction. 

The  door  between  the  boys'  rooms  was  closed, 
but  not  fastened.  Joe  lingered  over  his  prepa- 
rations for  bed,  half  hoping  Jes  would  come  in. 
Once  he  started  to  go  for  him,  and  did  draw 
the  door  ajar,  but  he  saw  Jes  with  his  back  to 
17 


258  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

him  busily  preparing  for  sleep,  and  remember- 
ing that  he  was  not  well,  Joe  hesitated  to  disturb 
him  again. 

But  the  glance  into  Jes's  room  had  awakened 
a  new  feeling  in  Joe's  heart.  Again  he  was 
contrasting  himself  and  his  coarse  clothing  with 
Jes.  Across  the  foot  of  Jes's  bed  Joe  saw  a 
delicate  white  night  robe,  daintily  ruffled  and 
fluted;  white  curtains  were  looped  back  from 
the  pillows  with  pale  ribbons.  Evidently 
neither  labor  nor  love  had  been  lacking  to  sur- 
round Jes  with  all  things  beautiful. 

Joe  thought  of  his  own  miserable  boyhood 
and  its  unattractive  surroundings,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment his  heart  was  full  of  bitter  rebellion.  Then 
his  fingers  accidentally  came  in  contact  with 
granny's  patch,  and  his  ugly  feelings  took  flight. 
He  had  had  as  much  genuine  affection  as  any 
boy  ;  it  was  only  that  the  money  had  been  lack-, 
ing,  perhaps,  to  render  his  life  as  easy  as  Jes's. 
At  least  that  was  what  he  told  himself,  not 
allowing  himself  to  think  otherwise. 

"  And  leastways  I  couldn't  help  it,"  he  told 


FIRST    LESSONS  259 

himself,  as  lie  drew  back  the  curtains  and  looked 
out  upon  the  night.  "  I  couldn't  help  it,  and 
Jes  said  what  we  couldn't  in  no  ways  help  was 
not  our  blame,  but  our  misfortune." 

The  moon  was  shining ;  it  was  a  comfort  to 
think  it  was  shining  at  the  same  moment  upon 
the  little  cabins  among  the  mountains  where 
Sylvia  and  granny  were  lying  asleep,  dreaming 
it  might  be,  of  him.  "  Sylvia,  and  granny,  and 
Jube,"  said  Joe ;  "  I  sha'n't  ever  forget  Jube." 
He  couldn't  sleep,  and  he  stood  at  the  window 
watching  the  moonlight,  wishing  that  Jes  would 
come  in.  At  last  he  went  again  and  looked  into 
Jes's  room.  The  gas  was  turned  quite  low,  and 
in  the  semi-darkness  he  saw  Jes,  in  his  white 
night-shirt,  quietly  kneeling  by  his  bed,  saying 
his  prayers. 

It  was  like  a  soothing  draught  to  Joe's  tu- 
multuous thought.  He  went  back  and  was 
soon  fast  asleep  in  his  own  bed.  And  the  same 
moon  that  looked  down  through  the  curtainless 
windows  of  the  Rock  House  upon  the  old  gray 
head  resting  upon  its  coarse,  clean  pillow,  shone 


260  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

for  Joe,  too,  while  lie  slept   and    dreamed  of 
home. 

Jes  did  peep  in  at  last,  but  Joe  was  asleep 
and  his  gas  turned  off.  Jes  crept  stealthily 
back  and  turned  off  his  light  also ;  he  was 
accustomed  to  sleep  with  it  burning,  but  to- 
night— well,  there  was  something  about  the  new 
boy  from  the  mountains  that  made  Jes  ashamed 
of  his  cowardice.  He  felt  afraid  Joe  might 
suspect  that  he  burned  his  light  because  he  was 
afraid  of  the  dark.  He  remembered  what  Joe 
had  told  him  of  those  lonely  rides  over  the 
mountain,  and  how  he  had  said  it  was  only  the 
sin  of  it  that  he  feared.  "  Sin  is  the  only  thing 
a  boy  need  fear  in  this  world."  And  with 
granny's  lesson  in  his  heart  Jes  crept  into  bed. 
It  was  the  last  night  he  ever  burned  the  gas 
because  he  was  afraid  of  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   WONDERFUL    SHOPS 

WHEN  Joe  awoke  the  morning  after  his 
arrival  at  Mr.  White's,  Morrison  was  standing 
at  his  bedside ;  the  sun  was  streaming  into  the 
room,  and  there  was  a  rush  of  water  sounding 
in  his  ears.  He  sprang  out  of  bed  with  a,  cry 
of  alarm  ;  for  an  instant  he  fancied  the  Rainbow 
Falls  were  near,  and  that  he  was  late  getting  to 
the  still. 

Morrison  smiled  and  hastened  to  reassure  him. 

"Your  bath's  awaiting,  sir,"  said  he,  "  and  if 
you  please,  I  am  to  help  you  with  your  dressing 
this  one  morning." 

Help  him  with  his  dressing;  how  funny. 
Why  he  had  been  dressing  himself  ever  since 
he  put  on  his  first  breeches.  But  after  Mor- 
rison was  done  with  him  Joe  began  to  feel  that 
it  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  ever 

261 


262  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

known  the  luxury  of  a  genuine  toilet.  The 
man  first  plunged  him  into  a  hot  bath,  after 
which  he  deluged  him  with  a  cold  shower  that 
sent  the  blood  tingling  through  his  veins  in  a  way 
that  made  him  wonder  if  it  were  water  or  very 
fine  needles  pricking  into  his  flesh.  And  when 
it  was  over  Morrison  cut  his  hair  and  carefully 
brushed  it,  pared  and  polished  his  finger-nails, 
after  which  he  put  on  him  a  new  suit  of  plain, 
well-made  clothes,  flipped  a  spray  of  perfume 
into. his  face,  and  slipped  a  linen  handkerchief 
into  his  breast  pocket,  with  the  tip  of  the  deep 
hem  just  visible.  Then  he  opened  the  door 
and  announced  that  the  master  was  waiting  for 
him  in  the  library. 

Joe  felt  so  awkward,  so  entirely  ill  at  ease, 
that  the  servant  took  pity  on  him. 

"  Just  try  to  feel  as  though  you  owned  the 
place,  sir,"  said  he.  "  That's  the  way  I  do 
when  I  goes  out  to  a  new  service,  and  it  helps 
things  to  come  handy,  mightily." 

Joe  laughed,  and  forgot  his  awkwardness  in 
fancying  how  funny  it  would  be  to  try  to  feel 


THE    WONDERFUL    SHOPS  263 

that  Mr.  White's  big  house  belonged  to  him. 
Why,  if  he  were  master  there  he  would — 

And  unconsciously  Joe  began  to  trip  down 
the  stairs  in  his  pliable  new  shoes  for  all  the 
world  as  Jes  would  have  done. 

He  was  laughing  heartily  at  his  "  foolishness  " 
when  he  reached  the  library  door,  and  heard 
Jes  exclaim : 

"  Why,  how  good  you  look !  Doesn't  he, 
uncle?" 

"  First  rate,"  said  Mr.  White.  "  I  wish  you  to 
feel  at  home,  my  son,  in  good  clothing,  and 
among  delicate  surroundings.  Such  things  are 
refining,  though  not  absolutely  necessary  by  any 
means  to  the  development  of  character.  Re- 
member that,  if  you  are  ever  tempted  to  think 
too  much  of  them.  Whenever  they  become  a 
temptation  to  you,  such  as  debt,  they  are  no 
longer  refining,  but,  rather,  degrading,  and  it  is 
time  to  give  them  up.  I  refer,  of  course,  to  such 
things  as  undue  adornment  and  those  little 
things,  harmless  enough  in  themselves,  but  dan- 
gerous if  given  too  much  attention." 


264  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Joe  was  not  destined  to  be  spoiled  by  good 
clothes ;  he  was  glad  to  look  a  little  more  like 
Jes,  whom  he  admired  thoroughly,  and  glad  to 
feel  that  the  gap  between  them  was,  perhaps, 
beginning  to  narrow.  Already  he  found  himself 
trying  to  talk  like  Jes ;  already  the  slow  old 
drawl  of  the  mountaineer  was  disappearing,  for 
Joe  remembered  very  carefully  the  slightest 
correction  made  in  his  speech. 

Mr.  White  left  instructions  with  Jes  to  bring 
Joe  down  to  the  shops  at  eleven  o'clock.  And 
although  Jes  read  and  played  on  the  piano, 
the  hours  dragged  slowly  until  time  for  them 
to  go. 

"  We  must  go  by  the  book-store  and  get  your 
books  for  studying,"  said  Jes.  "  You  ought  to 
begin  right  away,  you  know." 

"  But  I  can't,"  said  Joe.  "  I  ain't  got  any 
money  to  buy  the  book  yet,  and  I'll  have  to 
wait  till  I  can  make  it." 

"  Why,  it's  only  twenty-five  cents,"  said  Jes. 
"  I  can  give  you  that  much." 

Joe  shook  his  head. 


THE    WONDERFUL   SHOPS  265 

"  I  couldn't  do  that,"  said  he.  "  I  ain't  a 
beggar.  Granny  always  said  nobody  has  a  right 
to  be  a  beggar  as  long  as  he  can  work." 

Jes  stared.  What  kind  of  a  boy  was  this 
he  had  stumbled  upon  ?  An  ignorant  mountain 
stripling  who  refused  gifts  ! 

"  Well,"  said  Jes,  "  I'll  lend  it  to  you,  then." 

"  But  I  can't  borrow,  neither,"  said  Joe. 
"Granny  would  make  me  give  the  book  straight 
back  if  she  was  here." 

"  Look  here,  Joe,"  said  Jes.  "  It's  an  awful 
thing  not  to  know  how  to  read.  I  mean  for  a 
boy  your  size.  You've  already  lost  lots  of  time. 
It  wasn't  your  fault,  but  it  is  your  fault  now  if 
you  don't  learn  when  you  have  the  chance,  and 
you  ought  to  remember  that." 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  Joe,  "  it  would  be 
worser — " 

"  Worse,"  said  Jes. 

"  Worse  to  be  borrowing  when  I  can't  see  my 
way  to  paying  back.  No,  I  must  do  without  it, 
or  else — " 

"What?" 


266  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  I  must  work  for  it.  That's  the  way  I  always 
done—" 

"  Did." 

"  Did  in  the  mountains.  If  I  wanted  any- 
thing at  the  store  Mr.  Jarvis  let  me  earn  it. 
That's  the  way  I  aim  to  do  always." 

Jes's  eyes  showed  his  surprise ;  he  had  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing. 

Why,  already  he  had  several  little  accounts 
of  his  own  at  the  stores.  He  generally  had  one 
at  the  book-store,  and  always  one  at  the  confec- 
tioner's. It  was  his  own  little  secret,  and  he  was 
very  careful  always  to  settle  them  at  the  end  of 
the  month,  when  he  received  his  allowance.  He 
always  took  all  the  money  his  uncle  was  willing 
to  give,  too.  And  here  was  a  boy  who  would 
neither  receive  gifts  nor  borrow.  He  wondered 
if,  by-and-by,  he  would  not  be  offering  to  pay 
for  the  clothes  he  had  on.  There  was  no  mov- 
ing a  boy  like  that.  Jes  was  about  to  give  it 
up  in  despair. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  that  ends  it ;  you  can't 
work  for  me." 


THE    WONDERFUL    SHOPS  267 

"  Why  can't  I  ?"  said  Joe.  "  Don't  you  ever 
work  ?  Don't  you  need  anything  done  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Jes.  "  Never.  Morrison  does  all 
I  need,  except  blacking  my  shoes,  which  uncle 
requires  me  to  do,  because  he  says  it  is  too  much 
to  ask  of  Morrison,  unless  I  pay  him  extra  out 
of  my  own  pocket.' 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  "  why  can't  I  black  the 
boots  for  the  book  ?  It  would  only  be  for  about 
a  week  ?" 

Jes  hesitated.  "I  don't  know  what  uncle  would 
say.  He  knows  I  dislike  to  black  my  own  shoes, 
and  he  thinks  I  am  a  little  disposed  to  imposing 
sometimes." 

"  We'll  not  tell  anybody  a  word  about  it," 
said  Joe.  "  It  is  just  paying  a  debt.  If 
you'll  let  me  take  it  so,  I  will  be  glad  to  get 
the  book.  If  you  won't,  then  it  will  have 
to  wait." 

So  it  was  settled  ;  but  Jes  could  not  feel  quite 
comfortable  somehow.  He  knew  that  his  uncle 
would  not  allow  Joe  to  black  his  shoes  if  he 
knew  of  it ;  yet,  looking  at  it  Joe's  way  it  seemed 


268  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

fair  enough.  He  had  already  learned  that  Joe's 
way  was  apt  to  be  a  fair  one. 

Still,  when  they  reached  the  shops  and  he  led 
Joe  around  to  the  small  glass  enclosure  that  Mr. 
White  called  his  office,  he  slipped  the  book  into 
his  overcoat  pocket.  Because  he  felt  sure  that 
if  any  question  should  arise  Joe  would  make  a 
clean  breast  of  the  matter.  But  Joe  saw  noth- 
ing of  Jes's  uneasiness ;  shared  nothing  of  it. 
He  was  wholly  absorbed  in  the  wonderful  things 
about  him.  The  great  room  seemed  almost  a 
world  of  itself.  There  were  heaps  and  heaps  of 
beautiful  lumber,  some  ready  planed  and  pol- 
ished, some  waiting  the  polishing  table.  In 
another  room,  of  which  he  had  merely  a  glimpse 
in  passing,  there  were  stacks  of  furniture  ready 
for  the  market.  In  another  department  still 
they  told  him  was  the  machinery,  the  gluing- 
room,  and  the  varnish  shop. 

There  was  so  much  of  it  that  he  was  quite  be- 
wildered ;  he  began  to  wonder  if  he  ever  should 
learn  to  move  about  with  safety,  still  less  to  be 
useful  in  the  wonderful  place. 


THE    WONDERFUL   SHOPS  269 

Mr.  White  seemed  to  guess  something  of  the 
boy's  feeling,  for  he  said : 

"  You  know  how  it  is  done,  Joe.  By  begin- 
ning right  at  the  bottom." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joe.  "  But  could  I  begin  at 
once — now  ?  I  am  willing  to  start  at  the  bottom, 
sir ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  stay  there." 

Mr.  White  smiled. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  wait  a  while  ?"  said  he. 
"  Next  week  will  be  time  enough  to  begin." 

"  If  you  don't  care,"  said  Joe,  "  I'd  rather 
begin  right  now.  'Pears  like  it's  what  I  have 
been  a-thirsting  for  all  my  life,  Mr.  White." 

"  Very  well,  then,  you  shall  begin  to-day. 
Jes,  go  down  and  send  the  foreman  to  me." 

When  the  foreman  appeared  the  master  said  : 

"Mr.  Johnson,  I  have  brought  you  a  new 
hand.  I  wish  you  to  take  this  boy  and  find  a 
place  for  him.  His  name  is  Bentley.  Try  him 
a  week  and  then  report  to  me."  Joe  was  led 
away  by  the  foreman,  and  Jes  went  home  alone. 
The  boys  did  not  meet  again  until  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening. 


270  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

After  dinner  Mr.  White,  looking  into  the 
library,  saw  them  with  heads  bowed  together 
over  the  table  busily  at  work  over  Joe's  lessons. 
An  hour  later  he  looked  in  again.  They  were 
still  at  work,  though  Jes  sat  back  waiting  for 
Joe  to  master  his  task  and  begin  a  new  one. 

That  night,  after  Jes  retired,  he  saw  Joe 
softly  enter  the  room  and  stop  at  his  bedside. 

"  Hello !"  he  exclaimed.     "What's  up  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Joe.  "  I  was  trying  not  to 
wake  you.  I  am  only  looking  for  your  shoes." 

"  Oh,"  said  Jes,  "  let  them  be  till  morning." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Joe.  "  It  was  a  fair  bar- 
gain, and  if  you  don't  want  to  stand  to  it,  I'll 
not  have  the  book." 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  said  Jes.  "  Do  anything 
you  please.  Only  you've  got  to  learn  to  read 
and  write  and  talk.  There !" 

"  You've  got  to  learn."  The  words  reminded 
Joe  of  the  first  night  of  his  arrival  when  Jes 
refused  to  be  sick.  He  had  almost  learned  to 
think  that  whatever  Jes  willed  to  do  he  was 
pretty  sure  to  have  it  so. 


THE    WONDERFUL   SHOPS  271 

As  Joe  was  leaving  the  room  with  the  shoes 
in  his  hand  Jes  turned  on  his  pillow  and  said : 

"  Say,  I  do  believe  you  are  a  softy." 

Joe  stopped,  his  anger  was  up  in  an  instant. 

"  You'd  better  not  say  that,"  said  he.  "  I  fit 
a  man  once,  a  grown-up  man,  for  saying  that." 

Jes  chuckled. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "just  say  '  fought,'  then, 
and  we'll  let  it  pass." 

The  week  passed  pleasantly — gloriously  to 
Joe.  At  the  close  of  a  Saturday  afternoon  the 
foreman  tapped  at  the  office  door. 

"  I  wish,  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  you  would  just 
come  and  take  a  peep  at  your  new  hand." 

Mr.  White  rose  at  once  and  followed  the  fore- 
man to  the  carpenters'  department,  where  Joe 
was  at  work. 

Before  a  long,  rough  carpenter's  table  stood 
Joe,  his  big  striped  apron  reaching  from  his  chin 
to  the  tips  of  his  shoes.  Before  him  lay  a  broad, 
white  plank,  over  which  he  was  industriously 
running  a  plane.  At  one  end  of  the  table, 
propped  up  among  the  curling  yellow  shavings, 


272  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

stood  a  book.  With  each  trip  he  made  to  the 
end  of  the  table  the  young  carpenter  took  a 
peep  at  the  book,  and  the  two  men  saw  his  lips 
moving  the  while  he  applied  himself  to  his 
double  task  of  planing  and  learning  his  lesson. 
Now  and  then  he  stopped  a  moment  to  brush 
away  the  shavings  that  threatened  to  cover  the 
page,  but  not  once  was  his  attention  given  to 
anything  outside  the  work  before  him.  He  had 
no  idea  that  he  was  being  watched,  not  even 
when  the  master  tiptoed  forward  to  look  over 
his  shoulder  and  see  what  book  it  was  that  was 
dividing  his  attention.  What  he  read  there 
was — "  Goodrich's  First  Reader." 

He  turned  away  quickly,  and  beckoned  the 
foreman  to  follow  him.  The  humble  patience 
of  the  first  effort  at  securing  an  education  ap- 
pealed to  Mr.  White  more  than  all  Joe's  troubles 
had  touched  him. 

"  Does  he  do  his  work  well  ?"  he  asked  the 
foreman. 

"  Nobody  in  the  place  better,"  was  the  reply. 
"  He  has  a  natural  love  for  tools,  and  handles 


THE    WONDERFUL   SHOPS  2?3 

them  with  a  skill  remarkable  in  a  boy  of  his 
age.  I  put  him  to  work  in  the  carpenters' 
shops  after  trying  him  at  easy  little  odds  and 
ends  for  half  a  day.  It's  a  pity,  sir,  he's  behind 
in  his  education,  because  that  will  necessitate  his 
leaving  the  shops  in  a  short  time,  I  suppose,  and 
he  would  make  a  famous  hand  by-and-by." 

That  night  when  the  boys  were  again  at  work 
in  the  library,  Mr.  White,  in  his  study,  heard 
Joe's  voice  carefully  plodding  through  Good- 
rich's  first  lessons : 

"  It-is-a-hen.     Is-it-a-hen  ?" 

When  the  lesson  ended  Jes  said : 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  copy-book  ;  it  is  time 
for  you  to  begin  writing."  Joe  was  silent ;  he 
knew  it  was  to  be  the  old  battle  over  again  that 
he  had  fought  in  regard  to  the  reader.  "  You 
might  charge  it  at  the  book-store,"  Jes  went  on. 
"  I  know  the  man,  and  I  could  ask  him." 

"  No,"  said  Joe.  "  It  ain't  any  use  to  ever 
tell  me  that  again,  Jes.  I  just  won't  do  it,  EVER. 
But  I  tell  you ;  I  am  to  have  Saturday  after- 
noons off.  I  can  find  something:  to  do,  I  know, 
18 


274  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

in  a  big  town  like  this,  and  make  enough  to  buy 
what  I  need.  I'll  have  to  wait  till  Saturday." 

"  You  could  learn  a  lot  in  that  time,"  said  Jes. 
".It's  a  week  off.  Besides,  the  man  won't  mind  ; 
he'll  know  uncle  will  make  it  good  if  you  don't." 

"But  I  mind,"  said  Joe.  "And  granny 
would  mind,  too,  if  she  knew  about  it.  And  I 
'most  know  Mr.  White  would,  too.  Besides, 
something  might  happen  ;  I  might  die,  or  never 
make  any  money  to  pay  him  ;  then  what  would 
the  man  think  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Jes,  "  you  are  a  funny  fellow. 
You've  got  lots  of  old  woman  ways,  and  fool- 
ishness." 

Joe  colored. 

"If  you  just  mean  that  for  me,  Jes,"  said 
he,  "I  don't  care.  But  if  I  thought  you  was 
making  fun  of  granny  I'd  thrash  you  right 
thar-there-thar — whar-where  you  set-sit — " 

Jes  broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  I  wasn't,"  said  he ;  "  truly,  I  wouldn't  do 
that.  But  I  do  just  like  to  see  you  fire  up  for 
your  granny.  I  wish  somebody  loved  me  that 


THE    WONDERFUL    SHOPS  275 

way ;  enough  to  fight  for  me.  But  you  have 
got  some  funny  notions,  Joe." 

"Well,  they  are  good  ones,"  said  Joe.  "I 
ain't  ashamed  of  'em.  Granny  knew  what  was 
right,  if  she  was  old  and  feeble,  and  didn't  have 
any  book  learning ;  and  I  guess  her  word'll  do 
to  live  by ;  and  so  I  sha'n't  take  your  advice  to 
go  against  it.  There  !" 

"  No,"  said  Jes,  "  don't  take  anybody's.  But 
I  say,  Joe,  would  you  mind  borrowing  my  slate 
and  pencil  till  you  make  your  Saturday  fortune  ? 
You  are  welcome  to  it,  and  it  can't  wear  out, 
you  know.  At  least  the  slate  can't.  You  may 
give  me  one  of  your  own  pencils  any  time  I 
need  it,  if  that'll  set  your  mind  at  rest.  Would 
you  object  to  that  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Joe,  his  good  humor 
restored.  "  If  I  break  'em  I'll  buy  you  more, 
honest  and  fair.  Could  I  begin  to-night?" 

There  was  never  any  putting  off  about  this 
boy.  He  meant  to  conquer  in  the  battle  he  had 
begun  ;  and  the  sooner  he  began,  the  shorter  the 
conflict.  Long  after  Jes  was  asleep  Joe  sat  in 


27  (j  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

liis  own  room  patiently  following  the  copy  he 
had  set  for  him. 

Mr.  White  heard  stirring  in  the  room  long 
after  midnight,  and  got  up  to  go  and  see  if  either 
of  the  boys  was  sick.  Joe's  door  stood  wide 
open,  the  gas  was  burning  brightly,  and  seated 
at  a  table  sat  Joe,  busy  with  slate  and  pencil. 

He  was  about  to  go  in  and  send  the  boy  off 
to  bed,  when  Joe  got  up  and  passed  noiselessly 
into  Jes's  room.  A  moment  later  he  came  back, 
bringing  with  him  Jes's  shoes,  which  he  at  once 
began  to  polish.  When  the  task  was  finished, 
Joe  crept  wearily  to  bed,  and  to  sleep. 

Mr.  White  had  never  been  so  angry  with 
Jes  as  he  was  that  night. 

"  So  that  is  the  way  he  treats  an  ignorant 
boy,  who  doesn't  know  any  better  than  to  be 
his  lackey,  is  it  ?"  said  he,  as  he  returned  to  his 
own  room.  "  Imposing  on  his  ignorance  and 
good  nature.  Well,  we  will  see  about  that  in 
the  morning,  sir."  Then,  as  he  turned  off  his 
light  again,  his  disappointment  overcame  him. 

"Oh,   Jes!    Jes!"    he  whispered.     "I    had 


THE    WONDERFUL    SHOPS  277 

hoped  those  ugly  characteristics  were  disappear- 
ing. Poor  boy,  poor  boy  !" 

As  Joe  was  hurrying  clown  to  the  library  the 
next  morning,  he  met  Mrs.  Mallory  in  the 
hall. 

"  Oh,  Joe,"  said  she,  "  what  has  the  poor 
child  been  doing  to  you  that  the  master  is  so 
angry  with  him  ?" 

"  To  me  ?"  said  Joe ;  "  why,  nothing.  Jes 
has  been  as  good  as  gold  to  me  always." 

"  Then  do  go  in  there  and  tell  him  so,  for 
he's  giving  the  poor  boy  a  terrible  scolding,  and 
Jes  refuses  to  say  a  word  in  explanation." 

Not  knowing  what  dreadful  thing  he  might 
expect,  Joe  hesitatingly  opened  the  library  door 
and  entered.  Jes  stood  moody  and  sulky  before 
his  uncle,  who  was  giving  him,  indeed,  a  "  ter- 
rible scolding."  Joe  had  never  seen  Mr.  White 
angry  before,  and  it  almost  frightened  him. 
He  had  no  idea  what  Jes  had  done ;  but  he 
knew  that  whatever  it  was,  he  was  equally 
guilty.  He  began  to  fear  that  he  might,  after 
all,  be  sent  back  to  the  mountain.  It  would 


278  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

break  granny's  heart  for  him  to  fail ;  and  his 
uncle,  he  knew,  would  never  cease  to  twit  him 
with  it. 

"Come  in,  sir,"  said  Mr.  White;  "I  want 
you.  What  does  it  mean,  your  blacking  this 
young  gentleman's  shoes  ?  I  want  to  know  if 
he  required  you,  or  hired  you,  or  how  he  per- 
suaded you  to  play  bootblack  for  him.  I  told 
that  boy  the  night  you  came  to  this  house  that 
you  were  here  on  equal  social  footing  with  him- 
self; and  I  shall  be  disappointed  to  find  you 
had  not  the  same  respect  for  yourself  that  I 
had  for  you.  Now  then,  sir,  go  on." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  Jes  has  never  been 
anything  but  goodness  to  me.  He  didn't  want 
me  to  black  his  shoes ;  he  said  you  wouldn't 
like  it—" 

"Humph!" 

"  It  was  all  my  fault ;  all  my  work.  I  per- 
suaded him  to  it,  and  I  said  we  need  not  tell 
you." 

"  You  did,  eh  ?  You  persuaded  him  to  false- 
hood?" 


THE    WONDERFUL    SHOPS  279 

Joe  colored  and  was  silent.     It  was  Jes  who 
replied  to  the  charge. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  he  didn't." 

"  Be  quiet,  will  you !"  thundered  his  uncle. 
"  Go  on,  Bentley." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  I  don't  lie.  I  learned 
that  much  in  the  mountain.  It's  maybe  all  I 
did  learn,  hut  I  got  that  much.  I  needed  a 
book,  and  I  didn't  have  any  money.  Jes  offered 
to  lend  it  to  me,  and  I  wouldn't  take  it.  I 
wanted  to  learn  to  read,  mightily ;  so  much, 
that  I  begged  him  to  let  me  work  for  the  book. 
Granny  always  let  me  at  home.  We  couldn't 
think  of  anything  else,  so  I  begged  Jes  to  let  me 
black  his  shoes.  I  am  just  a-payin'  of  my 
debt;  that's  all.  I  am  sorry  if  you  think  I'd 
oughtn't,  because  now  I  must." 

"  And  if  I  forbid  it  ?"  said  the  master. 

"  I  hope  you  won't,"  said  Joe ;  "  but  I  am 
right — and  I  shall  do  it  anyhow." 

Mr.  White  looked  from  one  boy  to  the  other, 
then  said  to  Jes  : 

"Why  didn't  you  give  him  the  book,  sir?" 


280  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Because  he  wouldn't  have  it,"  said  Jes. 

"  Because,"  Joe  interposed,  "  I  could  work 
for  it.  I  ain't  a  beggar,  and  I  won't  borrow ; 
so  I  worked." 

The  lines  of  displeasure  disappeared  from  Mr. 
White's  face. 

"  Boy,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  know  what  to  say 
to  you.  If  you  had  told  me  what  was  going  on, 
I  might  have  made  it  easier  for  both  of  you. 
But  now  the  bargain  must  be  completed,  as  Joe 
says.  It  is  only  right.  And  Joe,  my  boy,  you 
got  a  good  deal  more  in  your  mountain  home 
than  a  strict  regard  for  the  truth.  Stick  to 
your  principles  ;  debt  is  a  halter  around  a  man's 
neck.  I  should  find  it  hard  to  pardon  either  of 
you  if  I  found  you  contracting  debts.  So,  Jes, 
let  us  hear  no  more  of  that,  sir.  And  Joe,  your 
grandmother's  wisdom  is  a  safe  motto :  '  No 
man  has  the  right  to  be  a  beggar  who  can  work/ 
Now  for  breakfast.  And  hereafter,  boys,  don't 
you  think  you'd  best  let  me  into  your  plans  ?" 

Joe  resolved  that  he  would  always  after  that 
take  Mr.  White  into  any  plan  he  might  con- 


THE    WONDERFUL    SHOPS  281 

sider.  But  Jes  remembered  those  unpaid  bills 
at  the  book-store  and  the  baker's,  and  was  silent. 

The  next  Saturday  at  noon  Mr.  White  sent 
for  Joe  at  the  office.  When  he  appeared  he 
handed  him  some  bills. 

"  Joe,"  he  said,  "  I  pay  off' my  employes  every 
Saturday  at  noon.  This  is  your  part  for  the 
two  weeks'  work.  I  had  not  intended  to  pay 
you  wages  until  you  should  have  learned  enough 
to  be  really  of  some  use  in  the  shops.  But  my 
foreman  tells  me  that  your  knowledge  of  tools, 
and  skill  in  handling  them,  together  with  your 
industry,  entitle  you  to  equal  wages  with  the  men 
in  that  department.  Under  the  circumstances, 
I  can  do  no  less  than  pay  you  the  same." 

Joe  looked  at  the  money  in  his  hand  and  tried 
to  speak  ;  he  wanted  it ;  he  needed  many  things 
that  it  would  buy.  Yet  had  he  truly  earned 
it? 

"  But,  sir,"  said  he,  "  you  are  boarding  me.  I 
did  try  to  work  the  best  I  could,  because  it  was 
like  working  out  my  board.  But  now — " 

"Well?" 


282  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  Why,  I  must  pay  for  my  keep,  sir." 

"  Not  to  me,"  said  the  master,  shortly.  "  I 
don't  keep  a  boarding-house." 

"  I  allers — I  mean  I  always  did  that,  Mr. 
White.  Even  at  my  uncle's  I  had  to  work  for 
my  keep.  If  you  don't  let  me  do  it  here — " 

"  Well,  what  then  ?" 

Joe  flushed  and  choked,  but  not  once  did  he 
yield  his  point. 

"  If  you  won't  let  me  pay  rny  way,  then  I 
shall  quit,"  said  he. 

"  Quit !     Are  you  crazy  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  but  I  ain't  a  beggar ;  and  your  own 
foreman  has  said  I  could  work  same  as  a  man. 
The  boy  as  can  work  like  a  man  ain't  got  any 
right  to  be  keered  for  like  a  baby." 

Without  another  word  the  master  touched 
his  bell. 

"  Send  Lawrence  to  me,"  said  he  to  the  boy 
who  answered  the  bell. 

"  Mr.  Lawrence,"  said  he,  when  a  tall,  very 
young  man  entered  the  office,  "  you  board,  do 
you  not?" 


THE    WONDERFUL    SHOPS  283 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  pay  for  your  board  ?" 

"Two  and  a  half  a  week,  sir;  workman's 
fare ;  good  enough  for  anybody." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  master.  "  You  may 
go  ;  send  Ellis  here." 

A  moment  later  another  workman,  somewhat 
older,  somewhat  better  dressed,  appeared.  Evi- 
dently he  belonged  to  a  department  of  the  estab- 
lishment a  degree  beyond  young  Lawrence. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  sir  ?"•  said  he. 

"  Yes.  I  wish  to  know  at  what  rate  your 
landlady  furnishes  you  board  and  lodging." 

"  Three  dollars  a  week,  sir.     Best  in  town." 

"Very  good.  You  may  go.  Now,  Joe," 
said  he,  when  the  workman  had  disappeared, 
"  you  understand  what  the  rates  are  for  board 
in  Knoxville ;  that  is,  workman's  board.  I  sup- 
pose mine  is  as  good  as  Ellis's,  so  if  it  will  ease 
your  conscience,  you  may  hand  Mrs.  Mallory 
three  dollars  every  Saturday  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  it  will  ease  it  mightily. 
And  now,  sir,  may  I  go  ?" 


284  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

The  master  glanced  at  the  clock.     "  I  knov 
it  isn't  time  for  the  whistle,"  said  Joe,  "  but  I 
want  to  spend  that  money  before  the  stores  are 
shut  up,  and  I've  got  to  go  home  first  and  get 
Jes." 

Mr.  White  could  but  wonder  what  it  was  Joe 
was  so  anxious  to  purchase  besides  his  school 
books.  He  had  said  so  little  about  money,  and 
had  never  expressed  the  slightest  desire  for  it ; 
it  was  odd  to  see  him  so  keenly  alive  to  its 
value  all  at  once. 

He  found  out  through  Jes  that  night  the 
great  secret  of  Joe's  happiness  in  his  first 
wages.  A  letter  was  written  to  granny  that 
afternoon  ;  Jes  wrote  it,  and  a  package  was  sent 
in  care  of  the  stage  to  the  people  at  the  Rock 
House  ;  for  Joe  remembered  them  all,  notwith- 
standing his  hard  treatment.  It  brought  such 
joy  to  granny  that  Tom  wondered  "  if  that 
thar  gift  o'  Joe's  fetched  more  pleasure  or  pain, 
the  way  granny  ware  divided  'twixt  laughin' 
an'  cryinV 

He  knew  which  feeling  predominated  at  his 


THE   WONDERFUL    SHOPS  285 

own  house,  however,  when  he  handed  Sylvia 
the  little  package  which  granny  had  told  him 
Joe  sent  "  along  o'  her's  for  Silvy." 

"  Oh !  it's  a  book,"  cried  Sylvia,  when  her 
eager  little  hands  had  torn  away  the  wrappings  ; 
"  it's  a  book  with  picture,  too.  Oh,  but  ain't 
I  glad  Aunt  Jane  showed  me  how  to  read. 
God  bless  you,  Joe  Bentley,  for  my  book." 

The  next  letter  Joe  sent  was  to  Jube,  and  he 
wrote  it  himself. 

"  It's  the  first  letter  I  ever  tried  to  write," 
said  he,  "  and  Jes  has  been  teaching  me  how  to 
do  it  for  a  long  time.  Jes  is  the  boy  I  got 
to  write  my  last  letter,  and  he's  mighty  good  to 
me,  and  I'm  remembering  all  you  told  me,  and 
some  day  I  am  coming  back  to  the  mountain  to 
see  you." 

A  promise  the  old  mountaineer  laid  up  in 
his  heart.  Like  Sylvia,  he,  too,  had  all  faith  in 
Joe's  promises. 


CHAPTEK  XV 

PROGRESS — CHANGES 

THE  years  passed  swiftly  and  pleasantly  to  Joe. 
Acting  upon  Mr.  White's  advice,  he  had  care- 
fully laid  by  a  part  of  his  wages  each  year,  thus 
enabling  him  to  pay  his  own  way  through 
school.  Each  vacation  found  him  back  at  the 
shops,  busy  as  he  could  be,  and  throughout  the 
school  terms  he  never  failed  to  show  up  at  the 
manufactory  on  Saturday  mornings  among  the 
very  first.  Every  step  he  made  was  onward, 
upward.  With  Jes,  however,  the  years  had  not 
dealt  so  kindly.  That  fatal  little  habit  of  con- 
tracting debts,  unknown  to  his  uncle,  had  grown 
upon  Jes.  Once  the  accounts  had  been  sent  to 
Mr.  White,  who  had  paid  them,  and  had  given 
Jes  such  a  lecture  that  for  some  time  the  offense 
was  not  repeated.  But  at  length  poor  Jes's  love 
of  indulgence  got  the  better  of  him,  and  soon 
286 


PROGRESS — CHANGES  287 

the  accounts  were  running  again  as  steadily 
as  ever. 

To  Jes,  Joe  was  still  a  wonder.  "  I  never  saw 
such  a  boy/'  he  would  declare.  "  You  do  nothing 
but  work,  work,  work  all  the  time.  I  wish  I 
could  do  something,  too." 

"  Why,  you  can,"  Joe  replied,  "  and  you 
must." 

And  then  Jes  would  fall  to  wondering  if  it 
might  not  have  been  Joe's  hard  beginning  that 
had  taught  him  self-restraint  and  perseverance. 

"  You  don't  have  temptations,"  he  would  say. 
"  You  got  your  start  in  life  before  the  love  of 
luxuries  had  a  chance  to  spoil  you.  Sometimes 
I  wish  I  had." 

And  watching  Jes's  struggle  day  by  day, 
almost  hour  by  hour,  Joe  sometimes  felt  almost 
glad,  too,  that  his  first  years  had  not  been  years 
of  ease  and  indulgence. 

One  afternoon,  when  Joe  had  been  a  member 
of  Mr.  White's  household  for  about  six  years, 
he  met  Jes  going  up  to  his  room  in  a  very  slow, 
solemn  manner,  that  at  once  struck  Joe  meant 


288  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

something  wrong.  His  first  thought  was  that 
Jes  was  in  some  trouble  about  his  indebtedness, 
and  he  at  once  followed  him  to  ascertain  if  it 
might  be  the  cause  of  his  unhappiness. 

Jes  met  him  at  the  door,  and  drawing  him 
into  his  room,  said  : 

"  It  is  all  up  this  time,  Joe.  I  am  in  for  it. 
You  know  what  uncle  said." 

"  See  here,  Jes,"  said  Joe,  "  you  surely  have 
not  been  running  up  bills  again  after  that  last 
scolding  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have.  You  can't  know  what  a  hold 
they  get  on  one  ;  you  can't  appreciate  it  because 
you  have  never  been  in  debt." 

"  No,"  said  Joe,  "  I  haven't.  But  I  can  ap- 
preciate the  utter  folly  and  uselessness  of  your 
doing  so.  You  must  go  straight  to  your  uncle 
and  ask  forgiveness." 

"  I'll  go  straight  out  of  this  house  and  never 
enter  the  door  again  before  I'll  do  any  such 
thing,"  was  the  reply.  "  In  fact  I  thought  of 
doing  that  anyhow." 

"  Oh,  Jes,  don't  be  an  ingrate  as  well  as  a 


PROGRESS CHANGES  289 

spendthrift,"  said  Joe.  "  How  much  is  it  this 
time,  and  who  are  the  parties  ?" 

"  The  same  old  story  :  books  and  sweets,"  said 
Jes,  drawing  from  his  pocket  two  long  accounts, 
which  he  handed  to  Joe.  "  You  see,  they 
threaten  me  with  uncle,  too." 

Joe  glanced  at  the  amount  of  the  bills  and 
drew  a  long  breath.  "  Fifty  dollars  !  Why,  how 
on  earth  did  it  run  up  so  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see  I  didn't  settle  the  last  two 
quarters.  I  had  other  things  that  were  more 
pressing,  I  thought.  And  now,  well,  you  see  I 
just  can't.  And  I  only  have  a  week  in  which 
to  settle,  or  the  accounts  will  go  to  uncle.  That 
is,  the  confectioner's  will.  The  book-house  is  a 
trifle  more  decent." 

"  See  here,  Jes,"  said  Joe,  "  you  are  in  a  bad 
way,  I  can  tell  you.  There  is  but  one  thing  to 
do  ;  go  at  once  to  Mr.  White  with  it.  But  you 
must  do  it ;  these  men  must  not  be  permitted  to 
tell  him." 

"  Well,  I  say  I  won't,"  said  Jes  ;  "  I'll  run 
away  first.  You  know  how  he  feels  about  debt." 
19 


290  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  And  I  can  fancy  how  he  would  feel  about 
runaways,"  remarked  Joe. 

Jes  turned  upon  his  heel,  with  a  scowl. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  needn't  preach,  that's 
all." 

Joe  wasted  no  more  words,  but  all  the  after- 
noon he  was  busy  trying  to  devise  some  means 
of  helping  Jes  out  of  his  trouble.  About  sun- 
set he  went  up  to  his  room,  and,  finding  the 
door  slightly  ajar,  entered  without  knocking. 
Jes  was  half  inside  a  closet,  from  which  he  was 
dragging  a  stout  valise,  and  did  not  hear  Joe 
enter.  When  he  spoke,  the  valise  fell  back  into 
the  closet  and  Jes  hurriedly  closed  the  door 
upon  it. 

"  See  here,"  said  he,  "  it  isn't  exactly  polite 
to  be  sneaking  into  a  fellow's  room  without 
knocking." 

"  I  don't  sneak,"  said  Joe,  quietly,  "  and  I 
have  come  to  try  to  help  you.  Mr.  White  will 
be  here  in  half  an  hour.  Come  Jes,  get  your 
courage  up  to  the  point  of  braving  the  worst, 
and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  He  will  be 


PROGRESS CHANGES  291 

angry,  perhaps,  but  more  hurt  than  angry;  and 
he  will  forgive  you,  too,  and  help  yOU,  not'only 
to  get  straight,  but  to  keep  straight.  Come,  say 
you  will." 

Jes  laid  his  hand  upon  an  inkstand  on   the 
table  near  by. 

"If  you  don't  get  out  of  this  room,"  said  he, 
[( I'll  throw  this  bottle  at  your  head." 

"And  when  you  do,"  said  Joe,  "  I  shall  lay 
you  across  my  knee  and  paddle  you  like  a 
baby." 

Jes  was  too  angry  to  speak,  but  something  in 
the  face  of  the  strong,  robust  young  fellow  be- 
fore  him  warned  him  that  Joe  meant  precisely 
what  he  said.  So,  instead  of  throwing  the  bot- 
tle, he  turned  and  threw  himself  across  the  bed, 
with  his  face  buried  among  the  pillows. 

Joe  talked  on,  quietly,  without  noticing  the 
hint  that  Jes  might  be  tired  of  his  company. 

Now,  Jes,"  said  he,  "  you  are  welcome  to 
my  money;  I  haven't  much,  because  Mr.  White 
put  it  into  some  stock  for  me  yesterday.  But  it 
might  stay  off  things." 


292  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Jes  bounded  to  his  feet  and  confronted  his 
would-be  helper. 

"  Don't  you  dare,"  said  he,  "  to  offer  me  your 
money.  Do  you  suppose  I  have  forgotten  that 
when  you  came  here,  a  mere  stripling,  that 
you  refused  to  borrow  twenty-five  cents  from 
me?  Do  you  think  a  boy  of  eighteen  has  less 
pride  than  a  boy  of  twelve  had  ?" 

"  I  remember,"  said  Joe,  still  retaining  his 
quiet  voice  and  manner,  "  that  the  boy  of  twelve 
might  have  gone  on  groveling  in  ignorance  a 
long  time  but  for  that  same  twenty-five  cents. 
And  you  remember  what  I  told  you,  that 
granny  said  there  always  comes  a  time  when 
we  can  return  kindnesses.  It  is  my  turn  now, 
Jes." 

Over  the  face  of  the  angry  boy  swept  a 
change ;  he  had  had  time  for  the  sober  second 
thought  which  poor  Jes  could  always  depend 
upon. 

A  sob  came  in  his  throat,  almost  choking 
speech.  He  held  out  his  hand,  which  Joe 
silently  clasped. 


PROGRESS CHANGES  293 

"  Forgive  me,  Joe,"  said  lie.  "  I  didn't  in- 
tend to  be  mean,  but,  indeed,  I  am  in  a  great 
strait.  I  couldn't  take  your  money,  though  I 
thank  you  just  as  much.  I  have  always  made 
it  a  matter  of  conscience  that  I  would  not  drag 
you  into  my  troubles  and  blunders.  And, 
really,  your  example  regarding  that  twenty-five 
cents  has  helped  me  to  stick  to  this  resolution. 
I  shall  get  on  somehow,  I  dare  say ;  don't  you 
worry.  There !  there  is  the  bell ;  uncle  has 
come.  Remember,  Joe,  not  a  word.  Not  a 
word  to  uncle." 

Reluctantly  Joe  promised,  but  at  the  same 
time  he  reserved  to  himself  the  right  of  going 
down  early  in  the  morning  and  arranging  Jes' 
matters,  offering  himself  as  security  until  the 
end  of  another  quarter.  Meanwhile,  however, 
Jes  had  made  some  plans  for  himself,  which,  if 
successful,  would  effectually  balk  Joe's  plans  for 
his  relief. 

He  was  quiet  and  thoughtful  at  dinner,  and 
soon  after,  pleading  indisposition,  he  went  up  to 
his  room.  There  he  counted  over  the  money  - 


294  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

that  remained  of  his  last  quarter's  allowance — 
nine  dollars. 

"  It  will  not  go  very  far,"  said  he,  "  but  it 
will  go  some — " 

And  then  dragging  the  big  valise  out  of  the 
closet,  he  began  packing  it.  Jes  had  determined 
to  run  away. 

"It  is  not,"  he  told  himself,  "as  though  I 
could  confess  it  to  uncle  and  be  clear  of  it.  It 
will  never  leave  me ;  I  have  tried  all  my  life, 
pretty  well,  to  conquer  the  habit,  and  I  can't.  It 
grows,  and  will  only  bring  more  and  more  trouble 
to  uncle  as  I  get  older.  I'd  best  end  it  now." 

Meanwhile  Joe  and  Mr.  White  sat  below  in 
the  study,  talking  over  matters  connected  with 
the  manufactory. 

They  often  sat  thus  together  evenings  when 
Jes  was  busy  with  his  practicing,  or  reading  in 
his  room. 

After  a  while  there  was  a  lull  in  the  conver- 
sation, and  Joe  heard  the  master  breathe  a  deep 
sigh.  Instantly  he  saw  Joe's  eye  fixed  upon 
him,  and  said : 


PKOGKESS — CHANGES  295 

"Joe,  I  wish  I  could  feel  right  comfort- 
able about  Jes.  He  is  a  good  fellow  at  heart, 
but  somehow  I  am  always  afraid  for  him.  If 
he  only  knew  the  sleepless  hours  I  have  spent 
for  him,  poor  boy  !" 

"  Hadn't  you  better  let  him  know,  sir  ?"  said 
Joe. 

"  No ;  Jes  must  feel  that  I  trust  him.  That 
is  his  only  safety.  But  I  have  felt  the  respon- 
sibility of  him  sometimes  almost  too  much  for 
me." 

He  dropped  his  face  into  his  hand  in  a  de- 
jected way  that  went  to  Joe's  heart.  He  felt 
glad  that  he  didn't  have  the  trouble  of  Jes's 
new  disobedience  at  that  moment  to  add  to  his 
grief.  He  had  never  understood  till  now  what 
a  care  a  boy  might  be,  and  he  felt  anxious  lest 
he,  too,  had  been  a  responsibility,  carrying  with 
it  more  pain  than  pleasure.  He  thought  Jes 
ought  to  know,  however.  He  was  warm  and 
loyal-hearted,  and  he  felt  that  if  he  once  could 
feel  the  anxiety  that  was  oppressing  his  uncle 
it  would  have  great  weight  with  him. 


296  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  that  I,  too,  have  not 
caused  you  anxiety ;  if  at  any  time  I  do  I  shall 
consider  it  a  kindness  if  you  will  plainly  point 
out  to  me — " 

"  Stop,  Joe,"  said  the  manufacturer.  "  You 
have  been  nothing  but  a  joy  and  a  comfort  to 
me  since  you  first  set  foot  in  my  house.  Re- 
member that  always.  There  has  never  been  an 
hour  that  I  have  not  had  reason  to  rejoice  to 
find  you  here.  You  have  repaid  a  hundred 
times  over  the  interest  I  felt  for  you,  both  by 
your  appreciation  and  your  endeavors  to  profit 
by  your  opportunities.  Never  think  of  such  a 
thing  as  my  worrying  about  you.  I  rejoice  in 
you  always." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  am  going  to  bed  now  ;  good-night  my  boy, 
and  God  bless  you." 

After  he  went  out  Joe  went  into  the  library 
and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Jube.  Jube  was 
almost  his  only  correspondent  now,  excepting 
an  occasional  letter  from  Tom.  Tom  never 
wrote  long  letters,  however,  and  they  were  very, 


PROGRESS — CHANGES  297 

very  few  at  that.  Jube's  last  letter  told  him  of 
a  visit  he  had  made  to  the  Rock  House  to  see 
granny.  She  wasn't  very  well,  the  letter  said, 
and  would  talk  of  nothing  but  Joe's  last  little 
visit  to  her.  He  had  only  been  there  for  a  day ; 
indeed,  once  every  year  he  had  run  up  for  a 
day  or  two  to  see  granny,  but  he  never  re- 
mained long,  and  never  went  anywhere  else. 
All  the  little  time  he  had  to  spare  he  preferred 
to  give  to  her. 

His  uncle,  Jube  wrote,  was  down  with  the 
"  rheumatiz,  sufferin'  mightily,  an'  crosser'n  a 
sick  bear." 

In  his  reply,  Joe  inclosed  a  bill,  and  asked 
the  storekeeper  to  see  that  his  grandmother  and 
his  uncle  had  everything  necessary  to  their  com- 
fort. Then,  his  letter  finished,  he  turned  off 
the  gas  below  stairs  preparatory  to  going  up  to 
his  own  room. 

But  the  moon  shone  so  brightly  that  he 
stopped  a  moment  in  the  hall  to  watch  through 
the  frosted  door  glass  the  brightness  outside. 
He  had  stood  thus  for  about  ten  minutes  when 


298  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

he  heard  a  soft,  stealthy  footstep  coming  care- 
fully down  the  stairs.  His  first  thought  was 
that  thieves  had  gotten  into  the  house,  and  had 
probably  been  in  Mr.  White's  room. 

He  was  unarmed,  but  he  would  take  the  mid- 
night prowler  at  a  disadvantage,  and  that  was 
something.  And  he  knew  that  unless  the  man 
should  get  an  opportunity  of  shooting  him,  that 
he  could  hold  him  until  he  could  alarm  the  house 
and  get  assistance.  He  drew  noiselessly  back 
into  the  shadow,  waiting  and  listening.  The 
muffled  footsteps  drew  nearer.  The  thief  was 
coming  that  way.  Instantly  Joe  was  seized  with 
a  terrible  fear  of  that  which  might  already  have 
happened  to  his  benefactor.  Perhaps  he  had 
been  murdered,  or  dangerously  hurt.  So  terri- 
ble was  his  anxiety  that  he  was  about  to  give 
the  alarm  and  call  up  the  house,  regardless  oi 
consequences,  when  he  saw  a  slight,  slim  figure, 
wearing  a  boyish  cap  upon  its  small,  round 
head,  and  carrying  a  heavy  valise  in  one  hand, 
slowly  and  noiselessly  make  the  last  turn  in  the 
stairs ;  in  another  moment  Jes  stepped  into  the 


PROGRESS— CHANGES  299 

moonlight  that  fell  through  the  door  glass.  The 
light  was  dimmed  by  the  heavy  plate  frosting, 
so  that  the  face  was  not  plainly  visible,  but  Joe- 
recognized  Jes's  familiar  figure  at  once.  He  heard 
him  feeling  with  his  free  hand  along  the  door 
facing  for  the  key,  then  a  low,  careful  creaking 
as  the  door  opened,  before  he  recovered  from 
his  surprise  sufficiently  to  act. 

He  sprang  out  from  his  concealment  and 
caught  the  runaway  lightly,  but  securely,  by 
the  arm. 

"  Come  back  !"  he  commanded.  "  Stop !  You 
shall  not  do  this  ungracious  thing,  Jesse  White." 

"  Let  go  of  my  arm,"  murmured  Jes.  "  Let 
go  before  I  strike  you  ;  do  you  hear?" 

"  No,"  said  Joe,  "  I  never  will  let  you  go  to 
your  ruin  if  I  can  prevent  it.  Come  back  at 
once ;  with  all  your  faults  don't  add  to  them  the 
unpardonable  one  of  ingratitude." 

The  door  had  swung  slightly  ajar,  and  in  the 
moonlight  Joe  saw  the  anger  in  Jes's  eyes.  Still 
he  held  to  his  arm.  He  knew  that  if  he  could 
detain  him  long  enough  for  him  to  think  a 


oOO  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

second  time  of  what  he  was  doing,  that  Jes  was 
safe.  And  he  knew  that  once  he  should  run 
away,  he  would  not  be  shameless  enough  to  re- 
turn ;  for  Jes  was  not  lacking  in  pride,  though 
pitifully  wanting  in  discretion. 

The  two  stood  facing  each  other  an  instant, 
then  the  hand  gripping  the  valise  slowly  opened 
and  Jes  lifted  his  fist. 

"  Let  me  go — you — " 

Joe  caught  the  descending  blow  full  in  his 
face. 

"  Don't  call  me  names,"  said  he,  blind  with 
the  pain  ;  "  you  will  be  sorry  to-morrow.  But  I 
shall  not  let  you  go ;  not  if  you  kill  me  where  I 
stand.  I  love  you  too  well  to  ever  let  you  go 
while  there's  life  in  my  body.  Now,  unless  you 
come  straight  back,  I  shall  hold  you  here  and 
alarm  the  house.  Do  you  understand  ?  Once, 
twice — " 

Jes  hesitated  ;  something  stirred  in  his  heart 
that  was  plainly  visible  in  his  face.  Joe  has- 
tened to  take  advantage  of  the  feeling. 

"  My  poor  Jes,"  said  he,  "  come  back,  and  let 


PROGRESS — CHANGES  301 

us  figure  out  a  way  together.  Come  back,  and 
let  your  brother  help  you." 

Slowly  the  fingers  clasping  the  door-knob 
relaxed,  and  the  hand  fell  at  Jes's  side.  Joe 
reached  out  and  noiselessly  closed  and  bolted 
the  door ;  then,  picking  up  the  valise  in  one 
hand,  he  threw  his  arm  around  Jes  and  led 
him,  sobbing  like  a  child,  back  to  his  own  safe, 
cosy  room.  They  had  reached  the  foot  of  the 
stairway,  when  Mr.  White  called  from  the 
landing  above  : 

"  Hello !  what's  up  ?  What's  the  matter  down 
there  ?  Who  is  it  that  is  up  so  late  ?" 

"  It  is  I,  sir,"  said  Joe.  "  I  sat  up  to  write  a 
letter." 

"  Too  late,  Joe ;  too  late,"  said  the  master. 
"  You'll  feel  it  to-morrow." 

And  then  he  went  back  to  bed,  leaving  the 
way  clear  for  Jes  to  get  into  his  room  unob- 
served. 

They  had  a  long  talk  together,  sitting  there 
in  the  moonlight  on  Jes's  bed,  but  there  was  so 
little  to  be  done  that  Joe  was  almost  in  despair. 


302  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  I  can  only  let  them  present  the  accounts  to 
uncle,"  said  Jes.  "  And  I  tell  you  now,  Joe,  I 
will  not  answer  for  the  consequences." 

Joe  argued  and  suggested,  but  nothing  that 
he  could  suggest  seemed  to  satisfy  Jes. 

"  It  isn't  as  though  it  were  the  first  time," 
said  he.  "  And  it  isn't  as  though  it  would  be  the 
last.  I  tell  you,  I  can't  cure  the  habit ;  it's  got 
me." 

"  No,"  said  Joe,  "  we  can  never  cure  ourselves, 
Jes.  There  is  but  one  physician  for  diseases 
like  yours." 

"You  mean—?" 

"God;  yes." 

"  And  what  would  God  care  about  the  silly 
debts  of  a  silly  young  fellow  like  me,  do  you 
suppose  ?" 

"  Nothing  that  is  large  enough  to  trouble  one 
of  His  children  is  too  small  for  God's  interest," 
said  Joe.  "  I  read  that  somewhere,  I  don't 
know  where,  but  I  know  it  is  true.  And  it  is 
just  as  true  that  He'll  help  us  when  we  call 
upon  Him.  Now,  were  I  you — " 


PROGRESS — CHANGES  303 

"  Well,"  said  Jes,  "  what  would  you  do  in  my 
place?" 

Joe  shook  his  head. 

"  You  will  never  do  as  I  should,  Jes." 

Jes  laid  his  hand  upon  Joe's. 

"  Try  me,"  said  he. 

'  Well,  then,  were  I  in  the  trouble  that  you 
are  in,  if  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to 
ask   the  advice  of  my  uncle,  I  should   go  to 
those  men  and  ask  them  to  allow  me  to  work 
out  my  debts.      I   should  explain   the   situa- 
tion  fully.      If  there   is   a   spark   of  genuine 
manhood  in  them,  and  it  is  possible  for  them  to 
do   so,   they   will   not   refuse   you.      It   is  the 
beginning   of  vacation,  you   have   nothing   to 
do;  and  believe   me,  Jes,  nothing   but  a  gen- 
uine   hard    lesson  like  this  will  do   the   least 
good  toward  breaking  you  of  the  habit  of  in- 
dulgence which  leads  you  into  debt,  and  there- 
by into  trouble.     After  it  is  all  arranged,  too 
late  to  undo,  I  would  go  to  my  uncle  and  tell 
him    what    I    had    done.      He   is   too   noble, 
and   too  keenly  alive  to  any  earnest  effort  on 


304  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

your  part  to  do  otherwise  than  commend  your 


course." 


"  Do  you  know,"  said  Jes,  "  that  you  are  ad- 
vising me  to  become  a  baker's  boy  ?" 

"  That  is  the  only  honorable  way  out  of  it, 
Jes,"  said  Joe.  "A  baker's  boy  is  as  good  as  a 
banker's,  if  he  is  honest  and  upright." 

Jes  was  silent ;  it  seemed  a  very  wild  scheme, 
and  he  wondered  if  his  uncle  would  allow  it. 
Then  he  realized  that  Joe  was  right ;  it  was  the 
only  manly  thing  he  could  do  under  the  circum- 
stances. He  rose  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  he.  "  It  seemed  awfully 
silly  at  first,  then  it  seemed  preposterous,  and 
then,  somehow,  it  seemed  all  right.  I'll  do  it. 
Good-night,  now  ;  I  think  I  can  sleep  some." 

Joe  had  risen,  too. 

"Good-night,"  said  he.  "A  thing  resolved 
upon  is  half  done,  Jes." 

Early  the  next  morning  Jes  went  down  to  at- 
tend to  his  unpleasant  business.  He  went  alone ; 
Joe  offered  to  accompany  him,  but  he  declined 
his  company. 


PROGRESS CHANGES  305 

"Too  much  like  dragging  you  into  it, 
Bentley,"  said  he.  "Besides,  I'm  not  baby 
enough  to  really  need  anybody." 

He  went  first  to  the  book-store;  somehow  he 
elt  less  afraid  of  facing  the  head  of  that  estab- 
lishment than  he  felt  in  offering  himself  to  the 
dusty  old  baker  who  owned  the  confectionery 
adjoining  the  bakery.     He  followed  Joe's  advice 
strictly  and  concealed  nothing,  admitting  that  his 
uncle  had  forbidden  his  running  into  debt,  and 
that  he  preferred  to  work  out  his  indebtedness 
rather  than  ask  his  uncle  to  settle  it,  or  to  tell 
him  of  his  disobedience  until  he  could  see  his 
way  out  of  it. 

The  old  bookseller  looked  at  him  over  his 
spectacles.  There  was  that  about  the  boy's 
confession,  and  that  in  his  regard  for  the  good 
opinion  of  his  benefactor,  that  appealed  to  the 
old  man's  generosity. 

How  old  are  you,"  he  asked. 
"Eighteen,  sir;  though  I  am  aware  that  I 
look  much  younger.     I  have  never  been  very 
strong,  you  see." 
20 


30G  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

"  And  therefore  spoiled,"  said  the  bookseller. 
"  Well,  young  man,  I  am  disposed  to  help  you, 
since  you  are  disposed  to  help  yourself.  One  of 
my  clerks  starts  to-day  on  his  vacation ;  he  will 
be  gone  a  month.  His  salary  is  seventy-five 
dollars.  He  is  an  old  and  experienced  hand. 
You  are  young  and  inexperienced ;  if  you 
choose  to  take  the  place  for  four  weeks  at  one- 
third  his  salary,  you  may  go  to  work  this  after- 


noon." 


Jes  was  so  elated  over  this  success  that  he 
almost  forgot  to  be  afraid  of  the  baker.  Here 
he  didn't  find  such  easy  settlement;  the  old 
baker  wanted  his  money. 

"  I  go  to  der  uncle,"  said  he.  "  He  pay  de 
bills  I  prings  to  him.  I  haf  but  to  say  '  der 
young  man  impose  on  my  shenerosity.' ' 

Jes  was  so  angry  that  he  turned  away  with  a 
defiant  threat  to  meet  the  baker's  threat ;  as  it 
happened  this  was  precisely  the  thing  needed. 
"  Take  it  to  him,"  said  he.  "  Take  it  to  him, 
and  see  how  much  more  of  his  patronage  you 
will  get.  He  told  me  last  month  that  if  another 


PKOGKESS  —CHANGES  307 

bill  of  miue  was  sent  him  from  this  house  he 
would  give  you  notice  never  to  put  either  life  or 
my  name  on  your  books  again  ;  there!  Go  to 
him  if  you  wish." 

The  baker  knew  a  thing  or  two.  He  had  no 
wish  to  endanger  his  own  interest,  and  the  manu- 
facturer's accounts  were  always  settled  promptly 
every  Saturday  night;  they  were  not  small  ac- 
counts, either,  as  the  baker  knew.  He  called  to 
Jes  as  he  was  leaving  the  house : 

'Vait;   vait   a   minute,   young   shentleman. 
Ven  did  you  say  you  could  come?" 
"  In  one  month  precisely." 
'Veil,  den,  let  it  be  for  a  mont;  den   you 
coom    back,  an'  talk    to   me   mit   it   again.     I 
eggspect  we  make  a  goot  trade." 

'Thank  yon,  sir,"  said  Jes.     "I   trust  we 
may. 

Then  came  the  hardest  task  of  all.     Jes  was 
closeted  that  night  with  his  uncle  for  two  hours 
Joe  never  asked  and   never  knew  what  hap- 
pened.     He  felt  that  Jes  was  making  a  dean 
breast  of  it,  however.     And  when  at  last  he  saw 


308  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

the  study  door  open,  and  the  old  man  stand  a 
moment  with  his  hand  upon  Jes's  head,  he  felt 
that  it  was  laid  there  in  benediction,  and  that 
hereafter  poor  Jes  would  not  have  such  a  single- 
handed  battle  with  his  frailties. 

The  new  work  began  at  once;  the  summer 
proved  a  long  and  hard  one  to  the  boy  earning 
his  first  wages. 

True,  the  work  at  the  book-store  was  not  so 
unpleasant ;  the  head  of  the  establishment  was 
kind,  and  Jes  did  his  best.  Still,  he  was  a  new 
hand  and  the  work  came  awkward  at  first. 

And  then  followed  those  long  hot  days  at  the 
bakery.  The  best  position  he  could  get  was 
that  of  delivery  boy.  Even  Joe's  brown  face 
flushed  with  indignation  when  Jes  related  at 
night  his  first  day's  experience.  Joe  suggested 
to  him  not  to  remain  ;  such  work  as  this  was  not 
expected  of  him.  But  Jes  was  as  stubbornly 
determined  to  go  on  as  he  had  been  to  shirk  his 
obligation.  Day  in,  day  out,  the  long  drives 
over  the  hot  streets  went  on.  Delivering  bread  ; 
there  was  not  much  poetry  in  it,  and  Jes  forgot 


PROGRESS  —CHANGES  309 

to  think  it  might  be  heroic.  He  forgot  every- 
thing but  that  he  was  doing  his  duty.  One  day 
when  he  was  feeling  hotter,  and  more  weary  than 
usual,  he  rang  the  bell  of  his  uncle's  kitchen  to 
deliver  the  loaves  to  the  housekeeper.  Mrs. 
Mallory  opened  the  door  to  him,  and  seeing 
lii  111  standing  there  with  his  long  white  apron, 
and  his  arms  full  of  bread,  she  exclaimed : 
'  You're  a  brave  boy,  Jesse,  and  will  make  a 
man  of  yourself,  I'm  thinking." 

After  that  the  day  seemed  less  hard  to  get 
through  with.  The  little  word  of  encourage- 
ment had  served  to  give  him  new  courage. 

At  last  it  ended ;  with  the  very  last  week  of 
summer  Jes's  contract  for  paying  his  debts  was 
concluded. 

One  evening  he  came  home  with  a  new  light- 
ness in  his  step ;  he  hurried  past  the  library  up 
to  his  own  room,  where  he  made  a  fresh,  careful 
toilet.  He  was  the  old  Jes  of  a  few  months 
back.  The  old  Jes  ?  No,  not  quite  ever  the 
same.  The  boy  that  came  out  from  the  baker's 
shop  had  brought  with  him  an  energy,  and  a 


310  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

soul  for  work,  which  the  old  light-hearted  Jes 
of  the  previous  months  had  not  known. 

Mr.  White  and  Joe  were  waiting  for  him  in 
the  library.  Mr.  White  had  been  anxious  to 
send  Jes  to  college  this  fall,  but  had  not  been 
able  to  get  him  to  talk  about  it.  He  had  been 
speaking  to  Joe  on  the  subject  when  Jes  pre- 
sented himself  in  the  library. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  with  the  familiar 
glad  ring  in  his  voice  ngain,  "  I  am  once  more 
square  with  the  world.  And  again  I  can  hold 
up  my  head." 

Mr.  White  held  out  his  hand. 

"  You  have  fought  a  hard  fight,  my  boy,  and 
you  have  learned  a  lesson,"  said  he.  "Always 
remember  that  debt  is  a  destroyer  of  one's  self- 
respect,  and  I  shall  not  regret  your  late  un- 
pleasant experience." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it,"  said  Jes.  "And  I  shall 
not  forget  the  baker's  shop,  either.  Now,  uncle, 
I  am  ready  to  talk  about  college.  I  am  done 
with  play,  and  I  wish  to  get  into  my  place  in  the 
world  of  workers.  I  have  found  that  which 


PKOGRESS — CHANGES  311 

Joe  here  learned  at  the  outset:  what  a  serious 
tiling  life  is.  In  short,  my  season  in  the  baker's 
shop  has  made — a — man — of — me." 

And  the  "  man  "  was  so  overcome  by  emo- 
tion that  had  not  the  summons  to  dinner  come 
at  that  moment  he  would  have  been  guilty  of 
very  womanly  tears.  Two  weeks  later  Jes  left 
for  college. 

Then  it  was  that  the  manufacturer  discovered 
what  a  comfort  and  stay  he  had  in  Joe.  They  were 
constant  companions ;  every  evening  found  them 
together  in  the  library,  talking  over  the  events 
of  the  day,  arranging  for  the  morrow,  and  be- 
coming every  hour  more  dear  to  each  other. 
Often  throughout  the  day  they  would  be  closeted 
together  in  the  office,  untangling  some  matter  of 
business,  or  else  making  new  contracts,  confer- 
ring upon  the  merits  of  some  new  invention, 
doing  those  endless  little  things  necessary  to  the 
success  of  a  large  establishment. 

Sometimes  the  master  would  be  absent  for 
weeks,  leaving  the  business  entirely  to  Joe. 

"  He  understands  it  as  well  as  I,"  he  would 


312  A  MOONSHINER'S  sox 

say  to  his  foreman  at  leaving.  "As  well  and 
better,  since  lie  is  a  practical  workman.  Go  to 
him  as  freely  as  you  would  come  to  me  for  in- 
structions." 

The  year  passed  quietly,  with  few  changes  to 
stir  the  interest,  until  one  day  a  letter  came 
from  Jes  that  created  more  than  ordinary  ex- 
citement. Jes,  little,  mischievous,  happy-hearted, 
fun-loving  Jes,  was  going  to  enter  the  ministry. 
He  had  written  to  ask  his  uncle's  permission. 
Mr.  White  shed  happy  tears  as  he  held  Jes's 
letter  in  his  hand  and  talked  it  over  with  Joe 
in  the  library  the  night  it  came. 

" I  can  die  now,"  said  he ;  "I  can  die  con- 
tent, knowing  that  both  my  boys  are  safe.  Ah, 
Joe,  if  you  knew  how  I  have  wrestled  with  God 
over  that  boy,  praying  for  the  triumph  of  the 
good  that  is  in  him  over  the  weak !  And  it 
has  triumphed !  This  is  the  very  thing  for 
him.  The  boy  is  a  born  missionary,  only  he 
was  never  serious  enough  to  find  it  out  until 
lately." 

"  Yes,"  said  Joe,  trying  to  smile  and  brush- 


PROGRESS CHANGES  313 

ing  off  a  tear,  "  he  is  a  '  born  missionary ;'  I 
ought  to  know,  since  I  was  the  first  heathen 
that  ever  fell  to  his  charge.  He  taught  me  how 
to  read." 

It  was  a  happy  home-coming  when  at  the  end 
of  the  term  Jes  got  back  to  them.  Only  for  a 
little  while  had  he  come,  however.  His  place  in 
the  world  was  waiting,  and  Jes  was  anxious  to 
get  into  it. 

He  had  changed  greatly  in  the  year  that  he 
had  been  gone;  he  was  stouter,  graver,  more 
manly,  and,  if  possible,  more  devotedly  fond  of 
Joe  than  he  had  ever  been. 

One  night  when  the  two  sat  alone  after  din- 
ner waiting  for  Mr.  White,  who  had  returned  to 
the  office  at  the  manufactory  for  some  papers 
that  he  had  left  there,  they  talked  over  their 
experiences  of  the  past  and  their  prospects  for 
the  future. 

"  You  see,"  said  Jes,  "  I  can't  help  feeling, 
Joe,  that  you  and  I  have  acted  somehow  as  foils 
to  each  other.  Surely  two  boys  more  unlike 
were  never  thrown  together ;  sometimes,  look- 


314  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

ing  at  it,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  was  a  risk. 
Another  way,  it  seems  all  right.  It  proved  to 
be  all  right,  to  be  sure ;  yet  I  rather  think  it 
was  your  simple  beginning  in  the  mountains, 
together  with  the  hard  old  truths  and  splendid 
examples  of  the  two  you  never  have  grown 
weary  of  quoting,  'granny'  and  'Jube/  that 
helped  us  both  along.  We  might,  you  know, 
have  imbibed  the  weak  that  was  in  each  other's 
characters." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Joe,  "  to  put  Mr.  White 
into  your  calculations.  Remember  the  beautiful 
example,  the  wise  head,  and  the  warm  sympathy 
that  have  surrounded  and  followed  us  both  all 
these  happy  years,  Jes." 

"  I  do  remember,"  said  Jes.  "  I  remember 
and  love  him  always.  Yet  it  is  to  you  that  I 
owe  the  important  turn,  the  critical  decision 
that  really  shaped  my  destiny.  It  was  you  who 
sent  me  into  the  ministry,  Joe.  And  to  me  it 
has  brought  a  beautiful  lesson  ;  the  good  that 
God  sends  into  our  lives  He  expects  us  to  pa-s 
on  to  another  less  fortunate.  My  grandmother 


PROGRESS — CHANGES  315 

rescued  my  uncle  ;  lie  passed  the  blessing  on  to 
you  ;  you  have  handed  it  back  to  me.  God's  help 
is  a  loan  rather  than  a  gift.  We  use  it  and  pass 
it  on,  as  my  uncle  did,  and  as  you  have  done  " 
"What!  I?" 

'Yes;  I  couldn't  forget  that  baker's  boy. 
So  few  people  gave  me  a  good  word,  or.  even  a 
kind  look,  that  summer.  They  did  not  know 
who  I  was,  and  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  be 
polite  to  a  mere  delivery  boy.  But  it  taught 
me  what  a  varied  thing  life  is;  and  how  many 
have  to  struggle  through  it  without  ever  a  good 
word  or  a  lift  along  the  way.  I  think  I  deter- 
mined, really,  then  to  give  my  life  to  saying 
these  good  words.  I  found  where  I  was  needed. 
Then,  too,  that  ugly  experience  showed  me 

where  I  was  drifting,  and  it  frightened  me.     If 
J  had  run  away  that  night,  as  I  tried  to  do, 

I  would  have  been  lost.     I  know  that.     I  hope 

our  lives  may  always  touch  in  some  way,  Joe. 

You've  been  the  prop  to  my  weak  boyhood.     I 

tell  you  so,  frankly." 

"Honors  are  easy,"  said  Joe.    "You  taught 


31G  A  MOOXSHIXER'S  SON 

me  to  read.  Do  you  remember  the  night  I 
learned  that  '  It — is — a — hen  T  ' 

They  both  laughed,  and  the  talk  turned  to 
lighter  things. 

At  last  Joe  remembered  that  it  was  time  for 
Mr.  White  to  come  back. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  that  I  shall  meet  him 
and  walk  back  with  him.  He  hasn't  felt  so  well 
lately ;  complained  of  swimming  in  his  head. 
You  needn't  sit  up,  Jes,  unless  you  prefer." 

"  I  think  I  shall,"  said  Jes.  "  I  haven't  long 
to  be  with  him,  and  I  am  eager  not  to  lose  one 
moment  of  the  time." 

Joe  smiled,  and  turned,  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
to  say : 

"  AVhen  he  got  your  letter  he  said,  '  I  am 
ready  to  die  now  ;  both  my  boys  are  safe.' ' 

"  Thank  God  he  can  feel  so,"  said  Jes,  fer- 
vently. "And  I  thank  you  for  telling  me,  Joe." 

As  Joe  hurried  down  to  the  office,  his  uneasi- 
ness increased.  He  censured  himself  severely 
for  allowing  Mr.  White  to  go  alone,  at  night,  to 
the  works.  True,  the  watchman  was  there,  but 


PROGRESS — CHANGES  317 

in  another  part  of  the  building,  and  engaged  in 
liis  own  work. 

He  felt  relieved  when,  passing  along  the 
street,  he  peeped  through  a  chink  in  the 
window-blinds  and  saw  the  figure  of  Mr.  White 
sitting  quietly  at  his  desk. 

"  He  has  been  busy  and  has  forgotten  to  watch 
the  time,"  Joe  told  himself.  A  moment  later 
he  opened  the  door  and  went  in,  whistling  as  he 
went,  in  order  not  to  startle  his  employer. 

As  he  approached  the  glass  enclosure  he  could 
get  a  better  view  of  the  desk  than  that  afforded 
through  the  chink  in  the  shutters.  Suddenly 
it  struck  him  there  was  something  unusual  in  the 
position  of  the  body  occupying  the  chair  at  the 
desk.  The  head  drooped  forward  in  a  weary 
way,  and,  though  the  eyes  were  opened,  Joe  saw 
that  Mr.  White  was  not  looking  at  anything. 

With  a  cry  of  alarm,  he  threw  back  the  door 
and  entered  the  private  enclosure,  calling  as  he 
went.  There  was  no  reply,  but  on  the  pave- 
ment outside  he  heard  footsteps,  and  knew  that 
the  night  watchman  had  heard  his  call. 


318  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Fearing  the  worst,  Joe  seized  the  hand  lying 
upon  the  desk  ;  it  was  warm.  "  Thank  God  !" 
said  he,  "  there  is  life."  He  drew  the  beloved 
head  to  his  bosom  and  looked  down  into  the 
beautiful  old  face  that  had  borne  so  much  of 
heaven's  goodness  in  its  familiar  features. 

The  forehead  was  moist  and  cold ;  the  eyes 
were  staring  and  sightless.  "  Oh !  my  poor, 
poor  friend,"  said  Joe.  "  To  think  you  were  here 
alone  at  night,  and  suffering." 

He  placed  him  gently  upon  the  floor  and  ran 
to  the  door  to  summon  aid. 

"  Help !"  he  cried  to  the  watchman  coming 
down  the  sidewalk.  "  Help  !  This  way." 

A  policeman  passing  at  the  next  corner  heard 
the  cry  and  came  running  also. 

"  Get  a  doctor,  quick !"  cried  Joe.  "  Mr. 
White  has  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis." 

When  the  doctor  arrived  Joe  sent  a  messenger 
on  to  prepare  Jes  and  Mrs.  Mallory,  so  that 
when  they  reached  home  the  house  was  ready  to 
receive  its  stricken  master. 

It  was  hopeless  from  the  first,  the  physician 


PROGRESS — CHANGES  319 

• 

had  said,  so  that  none  of  the  watchers  left  his 
bedside  all  the  long  night.  Jes  and  Joe  watched 
eagerly  for  any  sign  of  recognition  that  he  might 
make  before  the  end  came ;  but  he  never  knew 
them  again.  It  was  as  though  he  had  indeed 
only  been  waiting  until  he  should  know  that 
"  both  his  boys  were  safe  "  before  leaving  them. 
At  dawn  the  gentle,  sympathetic  spirit  passed 
away. 

When  the  will  was  read  it  was  found  that  he 
had  left  his  fortune  to  Jes.  All  except  the  house 
and  the  shops.  These  he  bequeathed  to  Joe. 
"  Jes's  work  will  call  him  elsewhere,"  the  will 
read,  "  but  Joe  will  follow  in  my  footsteps.  And 
I  am  sure  I  can  trust  him  to  take  care  of  Mrs. 
Mallory." 

There  were  little  gifts  to  the  servants,  a  dona- 
tion to  his  faithful  old  housekeeper,  and  certain 
remembrances  to  some  of  his  workmen  who  had 
served  him  long  and  faithfully.  The  life  that 
had  been  so  helpful  to  others  seemed  to  be  carry- 
ing on  its  good  works,  even  beyond,  and  after  it 
had  passed  away. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AFTER    MANY   DAYS 

ANOTHER  year  had  passed ;  Joe  began  to  feel 
settled  in  his  new  position  as  master  of  the  big 
shops.  Jes  was  entering  upon  his  first  charge, 
so  that  he  didn't  write  very  often  of  late,  and 
Joe  began  to  think  more  and  more  of  the  friends 
he  had  left  upon  the  mountain.  They  were  not 
so  many  now ;  his  uncle  had  died  during  the 
year,  and  so,  too,  had  granny.  She  had  lived 
long  enough  to  see  her  boy  safely  started  upon 
the  life  road,  and  then  one  quiet  day  in  summer 
the  old  hands  laid  by  their  work,  and  granny 
went  home.  Under  the  moaning  old  hemlock 
on  the  mountain  top  they  laid  her  away  to 
sleep. 

Others  were  missing,  too,  from  the  old  scenes 
of  his  childhood.  One  day  a  letter  had  come 
from  Tom  Tate  saying  that  Sylvia  was  ill  again. 
320 


AFTER    MANY   DAYS  321 

Her  old  enemy,  the  rheumatism,  had  appeared 
again,  and  "poor  Silvy  air  failin'  fast,"  said  the 
letter. 

Then  Joe  did  something  that  he  had  wished 
many  times  in  his  stinted  and  unhappy  boyhood 
that  he  was  able  to  do;  he  sent  Tom  the  money 
to  carry  himself  and  Sylvia  to  Florida. 

And  there,  in  the  beautiful  land  of  flowers, 
under  the  warm  skies,  and  in  sight  of  the  gentle 
waters  of  the  Indian  River,  Tom  had  buried 
her.     She  would  sleep  as  well,  Joe  knew,  with 
the  birds  to  sing  for  her  the  winter  long,  and 
the  golden  oranges  shining  through  their  satiny 
leaves,  as  though  among  the  shadows  of  the  grim 
old  mountains.     Yet  he  felt  sorry  that  she  was 
not  there;  somehow  he  fancied  the  old  mountain 
must  love  the  little  dust  of  her  that  was  so  closely 
associated  with   its   glooms   and   its    gladness. 
When  she  died  Tom  wrote  again  to  give  him 
Sylvia's  last  message : 

"Tell    Joe   good-bye,   and    I   sha'n't  forget 
him." 

Joe  sighed  for  the  little  child  friend  of  those 
21 


322  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

first  unhappy  days,  and  felt  glad  that  she  had 
remembered  him  so  fondly  at  the  last.  There  is 
always  a  sacred  regard  for  a  message  from  one 
crossing  into  the  unknown.  It  is  a  presence 
that  follows  one  through  all  after  life.  Joe  was 
not  sorry  to  think  the  love  in  a  little  child's 
heart  might  perhaps  have  been  carried  across 
the  unknown.  News  still  came  from  the  moun- 
tain, however.  Jube  wrote ;  not  often,  for  Jube 
found  letter-writing  a  difficult  pastime.  He  was 
growing  old,  the  letters  said  ;  and  he  had  suffered 
misfortunes  of  late.  His  house  had  been  burned  ; 
his  wife  had  died ;  many  of  his  old  friends  moved 
away.  He  was  living  alone,  in  the  store,  doing 
his  own  cooking,  and  sleeping  nights  in  the 
room  over  the  store  where  in  the  old  days  the 
peltry  had  hung  from  the  rafters. 

The  last  letter  from  him  came  in  October  ;  the 
tenth  October  since  the  raiding  of  the  illicit 
still  under  the  Rainbow  Falls. 

Joe  was  sitting  in  his  office  when  the  letter 
was  handed  him,  just  before  the  hour  of  closing 
up.  He  read  it  before  going  home.  At  the  very 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  323 

bottom  of  the  page  there  was  a  postscript;  he 
had  been  very  near  overlooking  it  : 

"  I  have  lost,"  said  the  postscript,  «  another 
dear  friend." 

That  was  all;  and   written  in  the  crooked, 
cramped  hand  of  an  uneducated  old  man,  away 
up  among  the  mountains  of  Eastern  Tennessee. 
But  as  he  read  the  simple  message,  something 
slipped  along  Joe's  cheek  and  fell,  unchecked, 
upon  the  page.     The  young  master  knew  well 
the  royal  heart  beating  in  the  bosom  of  the 
rough  old  mountaineer.    He  tossed  the  letter  into 
his  desk,  locked  it,  and  rang  for  the  foreman. 

When  the  man  appeared,  Joe  was  getting  into 
his  overcoat. 

"  I  am  going  away  for  a  few  days,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  leave  you  in  charge  until  I  return." 

"  Any  address,  Mr.  Bentley  ?  "  said  the  fore- 
man. "Any  address,  in  case  of  accidents  ?  " 

'  No,"  said  Joe.  « I  shall  be  off  the  railroad 
where  a  message  could  not  reach  me.  I  am  going 
up  into  the  timber  country,  where  Mr.  White 
used  to  buy." 


324  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Once  again  the  maple  leaves  were  drifting ;  a 
purple  haze  rested  upon  the  hills ;  there  was  a 
gurgle  of  water  among  the  laurel  brakes ;  nuts 
were  falling. 

The  settlement  store  was  something  the  worse 
for  wear.  The  weather  had  beaten  it  gray, 
the  sun  warped  the  clapboards  of  the  roof. 
The  doorstep  upon  which  the  moonshiner's 
son  had  sat  one  desolate  day  in  September, 
holding  the  bridle  of  a  gray  mule,  had  twice 
succumbed  to  the  pressure  of  heavy  calf-skin 
boots,  and  had  been  twice  replaced  by  the  old 
storekeeper.  Now  it  was  ready  to  tumble  down 
again,  and  the  storekeeper  seemed  not  to  notice 
it,  until  the  few  old  neighbors  remaining  began 
to  say  of  him,  "  Jube's  ageing  some." 

Still  he  did  not,  as  some  advised,  "stir 
himself  to  find  another  step."  He  was  get- 
ting" careless  since  his  wife  left  him;  nothing 
to  work  for,  he  told  himself;  and  sometimes 
spoke  of  selling  out  to  a  man  over  in  an  adjoin- 
ing county  who  was  anxious  to  buy  the  store. 
The  visitors  to  the  settlement  often  found  the 


AFTER    MAXY   DAYS  325 

door  closed,  for  old  Jube  had  fallen  into  a  habit 
of  walking  out  alone  into  the  forest,  communing 
with   nature  in  the  vastness  of   her  solitudes. 
During  these  rambles  he  often   thought  of  the 
boy  he  had  tried,  in  his  gruff  way,  to  help  over 
the  rough   places  in   the   life    road.     Always, 
when  he  had  heard  from  him,  he  was  climbing 
-climbing.     And  always  after  a  letter   from 
the  boy  he  would  hurry  over  to  the  old  barn 
and  throw  down  an  extra  feed  to  a  dilapidated 
old  gray  mule  that  he  called  «  Kitty,"  and  that 
had  been  cosseted  and  spoiled  into  a  lazy  old 
age,  that  was  still  enjoying  itself  at  a  generous 
corn-crib.    Sometimes  he  patted  the  mule's  back 
and  said : 

"Jest  us  two  left,  Kitty ;  we  ought  to  be  good 
to  one  'nother." 

It  was  late  one  morning  in  October,  when  he 
was  returning  to  the  store  from  one  of  his  lonely 
walks,  that  he  fell  to  thinking  of  the  mule's 
former  master.  The  old  store  seemed  more 
gloomy  than  usual  this  morning;  it  was  near 
noon  when  jie  put  the  key  at  last  into  the  lock. 


32G  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

Visitors  coming  early  in  the  day  had  declared 
that  Jube  was  "  gittiu'  triflin'."  But  the  store- 
keeper was  smiling  as  he  went  back  to  the 
fireplace  and  lighted  his  pipe.  He  was  think- 
ing of  the  last  letter  he  had  written  Joe. 

"  Maybe,"  said  he,  "  I'd  ought  to  a-told  who 
that  thai*  '  dear  friend  '  ware  who  died.  I  could 
a-told.  I  useter  tell  the  chap  a  good  many 
things  when  he  was  here.  I  told  a  lie  for  him 
onct.  I  don't  know  to  this  good  day  if  I  done 
right  or  no.  He  was  jest  a  boy,  no  mammy, 
worse  than  no  daddy,  an'  I  aimed  to  do  what 
looked  to  me  best.  But,  somehows,  I  have 
allers  hated  that  thai*  lie." 

There  was  a  rattle  of  wheels  running  lightly 
along  the  sandy  road.  The  storekeeper  knew 
without  looking  up  that  the  easy-running 
vehicle  did  not  belong  to  the  mountain.  As  he 
rose  to  go  to  the  door,  a  light  carriage,  drawn 
by  two  handsome  bays,  drew  up  and  stopped. 
A  young  man  leaped  to  the  ground,  tossed  the 
lines  aside,  and  ran  into  the  store. 

His  step  was  a  little  unsteady  as  he  mounted 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  327 

the  half-rotted  old  doorstep,  and  his  eyes  were 
shining  and  soft  as  he  looked  about  the  lines 
of  shelves,  half-emptied  of  their  varied  treas- 
ures, the  peppers  and  the  tin  cups  hanging  side 
by  side ;  the  big  boxes  and  barrels,  and  among 
them,  slowly  rising  to  meet  him,  the  old  store- 
keeper himself. 

"Mornin',  stranger,"  said  the  merchant,  in 
his  familiar  way. 

Did  the  young  eyes  twinkle  ?  Or  was  it  a 
mist  that  obscured  the  stranger's  vision  for  the 
moment,  as  he  answered,  cheerily : 

"Good-morning.  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Juba 
Jarvis." 

;'  Well,  stranger,  you  ain't  got  to  go  any  fur- 
ther for  that,"  said  the  old  man.  "  What  can 
I  do  for  you,  now  ?" 

Surely  the  young  eyes  did  twinkle,  as  their 
owner  stepped  forward  and,  without  warn- 
ing, clasped  an  arm  about  the  old  merchant's 
neck. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Jarvis !  don't  you  know  me  ?  Don't 
you  remember  Joe,  the  moonshiner's  son  ?" 


328  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

The  storekeeper  gasped,  stared,  and  dropped 
back  into  his  chair  again. 

"If  it  ain't— little  Joe  Bentley— I'll— be— 
blowed  !"  said  he.  "  Staii'  back  thar,  Joe ;  stan' 
back ;  you've  sort  o'  knocked  the  wind — out — 
o'  me." 

He  fidgeted  nervously  a  moment,  tapped  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe  upon  the  hearth,  blew  his  nose 
with  all  his  might,  and  drew  the  back  of  his 
hand  suspiciously  across  his  eyes,  while  Joe 
stood  by  and  laughed.  Then  said  he  again : 

"  Stan'  back  thar,  son ;  stan'  back,  an'  let  me 
git  a  good  look  at  you.  My !  My !  But  I'm 
glad  to  see  you,  Joe." 

Laughing  like  a  boy  again,  Joe  stood  back 
for  inspection.  When  it  was  over  they  shook 
hands  again,  took  seats  and  began  to  talk. 

"  What  fetched  you,  son  ?  What  fetched  you 
back  to  the  mount'n?"  said  the  storekeeper, 
thinking,  with  a  chuckle,  of  the  last  letter  he 
had  written. 

"Well,"  said  Joe,  "that  'friend'  you  had 
die,  for  one  thing." 


"  LET  ME  GIT  A  GOOD  LOOK  AT  YOU  ' 
(Page  328) 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  329 

'  Yes,"  said  Jube,  "  it's  a  trifle  lonesome  since 
old  Kit  was  took." 

"  Who  ?" 

;<  Why,  ole  Kit,  son  ;  surely  you  haven't  for- 
got ole  Kit,  your  '  pardner,'  Joe  ?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Jarvis  !"  said  Joe;  "is  it  possible 
you  have  kept  the  old  mule  all  these  years  for 
my  sake  ?" 

"  She  died  week  'fore  last,"  was  the  reply. 
"A  '  dear  friend,'  as  I  writ  you.  What  else 
fetched  you,  Joe  ?" 

"  What  else  ?     Why,  I  came  on  a  little  busi- 


ness." 


"Special?" 

'Yes;  very  special.     I  have  come  to  take  you 
off  home  with  me." 

The   storekeeper   fairly    bounded    from    his 

seat. 

'  To  fetch  me  away  from  the  mount'n  !  Why, 
[  couldn't  live  off 'n  the  mount'n,  Joe." 

"Yes,  you  could,  too,"  said  Joe.  "And 
you've  got  to  go.  I  just  can't  feel  satisfied  to 
know  you're  up  here  all  alone,  in  your  old  age. 


330  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

There's  no  sense  in  it ;  your  home  is  gone,  and 
your  wife  ;  and  I  want  you ;  I  need  you." 

The  old  man  blew  his  nose  lustily. 

"  Son,"  said  he,  "  the  most  I  ware  hopin'  for 
was  to  hear  you  say  you'd  come  to  see  me, 
special.  Why,  sou — " 

He  stopped,  choked  ;  somehow  the  coming  of 
this  boy,  who  had  left  him  a  mere  stripling, 
ignorant  of  all  things  save  hardship,  and  had 
come  back  full  of  success  and  with  the  young 
heart  of  him  unchanged,  filled  with  the  simple, 
boyish  affection  and  gratitude  it  had  carried  out 
into  the  world,  touched  him,  and  speech  was 
choked  by  tears. 

His  coming  had  awakened  tender  memories, 
too,  in  the  breast  of  the  old  mountaineer. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pause,  "  I  miss 
Sary  mightily,  I  ain't  denyin'  o'  that.  An'  I 
miss  the  old  house,  too.  My  grandad  built  that 
house,  and  it  never  sheltered  a  rascal  yit,  as  I 
knows  on.  I  miss  it  mightily  every  time  I 
look  across  the  road.  An'  I  miss  the  horn 
a-blowin'  fur  dinner  whenever  I  git  ter  slicin'  a 


AFTER    3IAXY    DAYS  331 

strip  o'  bacon  to  brile  fur  my  lonesome  meals. 
I  even  missed  old  Kit.  But  Lor',  I  reckon  I'd 
miss  the  mount' n  more'n  all  the  balance.  Leave 
the  mount'n  !  I  couldn'  think  of  it,  son." 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  said  Joe.  "  I've  come  for 
you,  and  I'm  not  going  away  without  you.  I 
intend  to  tuck  you  into  that  trap  and  carry  you 
down  the  mountain  this  night." 

"  But  the  store,  Joe ;  think  o'  the  store." 

"  Kent  it,"  said  Joe.  "  Or  sell  it ;  give  it  away  ! 
I  don't  care  what.  I've  got  enough  for  you,  I 
reckon.  You  don't  need  a  blessed  thing  in  here ; 
and  I  don't  want  a  blessed  thing  in  here  but  you. 
Come,  Mr.  Jarvis,  time  to  be  stirring." 

"  But,  Joe—" 

"  Now,  Mr.  Jarvis,  don't,"  said  Joe.  "  I  want 
to  do  it.  You  did  so  much  for  me ;  let  me  pay 
my  debt.  I  want  to  take  care  of  you  the  rest  of 
your  life." 

"  P'sher  !    I  didn't  do  nothin' ;  nothin  at  all." 

"  You  did,  though,"  Joe  insisted,  "  and  I  mean 
to  take  you  home  with  me.  I've  a  nice  home, 
and  Mrs.  Mallory  is  my  housekeeper.  You 


332  A  MOONSHINER'S  SON 

needn't  idle,  either ;  you  shall  oversee  one  of  the 
departments  of  the  manufactory,  if  you  like. 
You  must  come.  Is  the  store  the  only  difficulty  ?" 

"  N — o —  "  said  Jube,  "  thar's  a  man  iu  the 
'j'inin'  county  would  buy  the  store — " 

"  Send  for  him  at  once,"  cried  Joe ;  "  there's 
my  team  at  the  door.  We'll  finish  up  the  busi- 
ness and  be  off  for  home  by  the  time  the  moon 
rises  over  old  Pine  Knot  Mountain." 

The  storekeeper  laughed  nervously. 

"  Don't  be  too  brash,  son  ;  I  ain't  said  I'd  go 
yit.  If  I  was  to  die — I'd  like  to  sleep  'long  o' 
Sary-" 

"  You  shall,"  said  Joe.  "  I  promise  you 
faithfully  I'll  bring  you  back  and  bury  you  on 
the  mountain." 

"  That'd  be  more  homeful  like.     But—" 

"  Well !     What  now  ?" 

"  It  ain't  any  fun  takin'  a  old  man  up  by  the 
roots,  so  to  speak,  an'  puttin'  of  him  into  new 
soil.  A  tree  wouldn't  stan'  it ;  an'  I've  noticed 
as  men  an'  trees  ain't  so  mighty  unlike.  Can't 
transplant  'em  mighty  well  when  they're  old. 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  333 

Bat  I  ain't  forgetful  that  you  wanted  me  to  go, 
son.  I'm  jest  too  old,  too  old ;  that's  all.  As 
for  what  I  done  for  you,  I  don't  rickerlict  but 
one  thing  worth  mentionin'.  I'd  ought  to  a' 
forgot  it  long  ago,  but  somehow's  it  wouldn't  lay 
easy  on  my  mind.  I've  allers  noticed  when  a 
thing  won't  lay  easy  on  the  mind  the  best  thing 
to  do  's  to  git  it  off.  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you 
about  it ;  maybe  you-uns  can  make  it  out  cl'arer 
than  I  ever  could.  I  admit  it  has  worried  of 
me  some  all  these  years  to  know  if  it  ware 
wrong.  You  ware  sech  a  little  chap  ;  no  mammy; 
worse  than  no  daddy.  Lookin'  at  you  then,  an' 
at  you  now,  I  can't  but  hope  God  A'mighty  for- 
gives me  for  that  thar  lie  I  told  for  you." 

"  For  me,  Uncle  Jube  ?" 

"  Yes,  son,  for  you ;  I  don'  know  as  it  ware 
right,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  make  no  brag  of  it. 
I'm  a'  old  man,  an'  I  never  ware  blessed  with 
uncommon  learnin' ;  but  I  allers  tried  to  keep 
a  fair  conscience,  an'  I  have  allers  set  it  down  as 
a  man's  own  soul  ware  his  first  obligation  ;  an' 
I  never  felt  obligated  to  lie  fur  nobody.  But  I 


oo4  A   MOONSHINER  S   SON 

tol'  the  revenuers  that  thai*  night  you  ware  ray 
son.  They  ware  huntin'  for  you." 

For  a  moment  Joe  could  not  speak ;  some- 
thing rose  in  his  throat  and  choked  him.  He 
turned  abruptly  away,  and  walked  to  the  window 
at  the  other  end  of  the  store. 

He  understood  just  what  that  lie  had  meant 
to  that  "  fair  conscience !"  He  understood  fully 
just  what  it  had  meant  to  him,  the  boy  whose 
life  Grim's  mean  revenge  would  have  ruined. 
For  a  moment  he  could  not  see  the  mountain 
tops  that  had  looked  down  in  grim  silence  upon 
his  miserable  boyhood.  Again  the  old  scenes 
returned.  The  furnace,  glaring  like  a  round, 
red  eye  upon  the  night ;  the  smell  of  the  liquor 
upon  the  breath  of  the  distillers,  sickening, 
repulsive.  The  roar  of  the  cataract,  and  the  call 
of  the  screech-owl  in  the  depths  of  the  woods ; 
the  weary-boned  boy  jogging  along  the  uneven 
roads  in  the  misty  morning,  astride  an  equally 
weary  mule.  And  last,  the  raid,  and  that  ter- 
rible fight,  followed  by  the  flight  in  the  dark- 
ness ;  his  own  fear,  and  the  unspeakable  feeling 


AFTER   MANY    DAYS  335 

of  horror  lest  he,  too,  should  be  seized  and  car- 
ried away  as  a  law-breaker.  He  recalled  the 
two  terrible  pitfalls  into  which  his  inexperi- 
enced, boyish  feet  had  so  nearly  stumbled — the 
raiders  first,  and  afterward  the  sheriff.  And, 
recalling  them,  he  could  trace  the  rescuing  hand 
of  old  Jube  in  both. 

He  turned  to  him,  where  he  stood  beside  the 
battered  counter,  his  hands  lying  idly  folded 
within  each  other,  his  old  face,  seamed  and  sad- 
dened by  time  and  sorrow,  lifted  to  the  sunlight. 
Joe  took  one  of  the  wrinkled  hands  in  his. 

'  There  is  but  one  way,"  said  he,  "  to  make 
the  lie  truth,  and  that  is  to  come  home,  indeed, 
to  your  son." 

The  old  man  laughed  ;  he  had  never  thought 
of  that.  Yet  it  moved  him;  it  did  seem  a  reason- 
able righting  of  the  trouble,  after  all. 

"  I'll  have  to  work,  Joe,"  he  insisted,  when 
the  boy  had  been  sent  for  the  willing  buyer 
in  the  adjoining  county;  "I'll  have  to  work.  I 
aim  to  earn  my  own  salt,  as  long  as  the  good 
Lord  spar's  me." 


A    MOONSHINER  S   SON 

Later  they  had  their  dinner,  which  Joe  in- 
sisted upon  helping  to  get. 

"  I  am  going  to  make  the  coffee  in  this  smoky 
old  pot ;  oh,  but  don't  I  know  how !  I  made  it 
for  granny  many  a  time.  I  stopped  at  her 
grave  to-day,  Uncle  Jube,  when  I  went  over  to 
speak  to  Aunt  Jane.  What  are  you  going  to 
cook  the  batter  bread  in  ?  No,  sir ;  you  are  not 
going  to  fry  any  bacon  in  that  pan.  Slap  it 
down  there  on  those  live  coals.  Oh  !  but  this 
does  remind  me  of  granny — " 

"  I  wish't  she  could  see  you  now,  son,"  said 
Jube. 

"  Perhaps  she  does,"  said  Joe.  "  I  like  to 
think  so,  anyhow.  And,  at  any  rate,  she  knows 
what  you  did  for  me,  Uncle  Jube." 

The  old  man  looked  up  from  the  broiling 
meat  he  was  lifting  from  the  coals. 

"  Now,  Joe,"  said  he,  "  you  shut  that  up,  else 
I  won't  go  a  foot.  I  done  nothin';  nothin'." 

"Yes,  you  did,"- said  Joe.  "You  spoke  the 
'  word  in  season/  and  it  has,  indeed,  been  to  me 
as  apples  of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver." 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  337 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  conversation ;  the 
broiling  bacon  sputtered  and  spat  and  curled 
itself  into  rebellious  little  hoops.  The  bread  in 
the  oven  browned  to  a  beautiful  golden  shade ; 
it  was  growing  late.  Visitors  would  be  coming 
to  the  store  by-and-by. 

"  Uncle  Jube,"  said  Joe,  "  shall  we  start  home 
to-night  ?" 

The  storekeeper  shook  his  head. 

"  To-morrow,  then  ?" 

"  Next  day,  son  ;  next  day.' 

"  But  why  ?     We  are—" 

A  step  sounded  upon  the  rotting  old  planks 
at  the  door  ;  the  old  man  leaned  forward,  and 
put  his  lips  to  Joe's  ear  : 

"  Not  a  word  more,  son,  not  a  word  more. 
We'll  go  next  day.  I  want  some  o'  these  folks 
to  see  you,  son.  I  want  'em  to  see  what  the  good 
Lord  has  raised  up  for  hisse'f  out  o'  the  moon- 
shiner's son." 

THE   END 


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Earning  Her  Way 

^By  cMrs.  Clarke  Johnson  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

A  charming:  story  of  an  ambitious  girl  who  overcomes  in  a 
most  original  manner,  many  obstacles  that  stand  in  the  way 
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Her  College  *Days 

*By  cMrs.  Clarke  Johnson  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

This  is  a  most  interesting  and  healthful  tale  of  a  girl's  life  in  a 
New  England  college.  The  trustful  and  unbounded  love  of 
the  heroine  for  her  mother  and  the  mutual  and  self-sacrificing 
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cTcwo  Wyoming  Girls 

By  SMrs.  Carrie  L.  ^Marshall        Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

Two  girls,  thrown  upon  their  own  resources,  are  obliged  to 
"  prove  up  "  their  homestead  claim.  This  would  be  no  very 
serious  matter  were  it  not  for  the  persecution  of  an  unscru- 
pulous neighbor,  who  wishes  to  appropriate  the  property  to 
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ber of  thrilling  adventures,  but  finally  secure  their  claim  and 
are  generally  well  rewarded  for  their  courage  and  persever* 
ance. 


"The  Girl  ^Ranchers 

<By  §Mrs.  Carrie  L.  ^Marshall        Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

A  story  of  life  on  a  sheep  ranch  in  Montana.  The  dangers 
and  difficulties  incident  to  such  a  life  are  vividly  pictured,  and 
the  interest  in  the  story  is  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  the  ranch 
s  managed  almost  entirely  by  two  young  girls.  By  their 
energy  and  pluck,  coupled  with  courage,  kindness,  and  un- 
selfishness they  succeed  in  disarming  the  animosity  of  the 
neighboring  cattle  ranchers,  and  their  enterprise  eventually 
results  successfully. 

<A  ZMaid  at  King  cAlfred's  Court 

By  Lucy  Foster  ZMadison  Illustrated  by.  Ida  Waugh 

This  is  a  strong  and  well  told  tale  of  the  pth  century.  It  is  a 
faithful  portrayal  of  the  times,  and  is  replete  with  historical 
information.  The  trying  experiences  through  which  the  little 
heroine  passes,  until  she  finally  becomes  one  of  the  great 
Alfred's  family,  are  most  entertainingly  set  forth.  Nothing 
short  of  a  careful  study  of  the  history  of  the  period  will  give 
so  clear  a  knowledge  of  this  little  known  age  as  the  reading 
of  this  book. 


ZMaid  of  the  First  Century 

<By  Lucy  Foster  ZMadtson  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

A  little  maid  of  Palestine  goes  in  search  of  her  father,  who 
for  political  reasons,  has  been  taken  as  a  slave  to  Rome.'  She 
is  shipwrecked  in  the  Mediterranean,  but  is  rescued  by  a 
passing  vessel  bound  for  Britain.  Eventually  an  opportunity  is 
afforded  her  for  going  to  Rome,  where,  after  many  trying  and 
exciting  experiences,  she  and  her  father  are  united  and  his 
liberty  is  restored  to  him. 


<A  Yankee  Girl  in   Old  California 

*By  Evelyn  Raymond  Illustrated  by  Ida  Wattgh 

A  young  girl,  reared  among  most  delightful  surroundings  in 
Vermont,  suddenly  discovers  that,  owing  to  a  clause  in  her 
father's  will,  she  must  make  her  future  home  with  relatives 
in  the  lower  portion  of  old  California.  No  more  interesting 
experience  could  come  in  the  life  of  any  bright,  observing 
S\r\  than  that  of  an  existence  in  this  semi-tropical  region,  with 
its  wealth  of  Spanish  tradition  and  romance,  its  glorious  cli- 
mate, its  grand  scenery,  and  its  abundance  of  flowers  and 
foliage. 

cMy  Lady  ^Barefoot 

^By  8M.rs.  Evelyn  Raymond  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

\  beautifully  told  story  of  the  trials  of  a  little  backwoods  girl 
vho  lives  in  a  secluded  place  with  an  eccentric  uncle,  until  his 
death.  The  privations  she  undergoes  during  his  life-time,  her 
search  for  other  relatives,  her  rather  uncongenial  abode  with 
them,  her  return  to  her  early  home  to  acquire  her  uncle's 
estate,  and  thus  to  enjoy  a  useful  and  happy  life,  form  a  most 
interesting  narrative  of  a  girl  whose  ruggedness  and  simplicity 
of  character  must  appeal  to  the  admiration  of  all  readers. 

TheFerry  cMaidofthe  Chatiahoochee 

"By  <Annie  cM.  ^Barnes  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

An  heroic  little  Georgia  girl,  in  her  father's  extremity,  takes 
charge  of  his  ferry,  and  through  many  vicissitudes  and  several 
impending  calamities,  succeeds  in  carrying  out  her  purpose  of 
supporting  her  invalid  parent  and  his  family.  The  heroine's 
cheerfulness  and  hearty  good  humor,  combined  with  an  un- 
flinching zeal  in  her  determination  to  accomplish  her  work, 
make  a  character  which  cannot  fail  to  aapeal  to  young  people. 


Dorothy  <Day 

^y  Julie  £M.  Lippmann  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

This  is  a  most  interesting  story  of  a  bright  and  spirited  young 
Jirl  whose  widowed  mother  re-marries.  The  impulsive  girl 
chafes  under  the  new  relationship,  being  unwilling  to  share 
with  another  the  bounteous  love  of  her  mother  which  she  had 
earned  to  claim  wholly  for  her  own.  By  the  exercise  of  great 
tact  and  kindness,  the  obdurate  Dorothy  is  at  last  won  over 
and  becomes  a  most  estimable  girl. 

ZMiss  Wildfire 

<By  Julie  §M.  Lippmann  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

The  story  of  a  governess'  attempt  to  win  the  love  and  confi- 
dence of  her  ward,  who,  owing  to  a  lack  of  early  restraint  is 
inclined  to  be  somewhat  of  a  hoyden.  The  development' of 
the  girl's  character  and  her  eventual  victory  over  her  turbu- 
lent disposition  combine  to  form  a  story  of  unusual  merit  and 
one  which  will  hold  its  reader's  eager  attention  throughout 
A  story  of  girls  for  girls  that  teaches  a  moral  without 
labeling  or  tagging  it  at  the  end."  -  Western  Christian 
Advocate,  Cincinnati,  O. 

Her  Fathers  Legacy 

<By  Helen  Sherman  Griffith  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

Suddenly  bereft  of  father  and  fortune,  a  young  girl  finds  her- 
self face  to  face  with  the  world.  Except  for  a  deed  to  some 
waste  land,  there  is  practically  no  estate  whatever  To  make 
matters  worse,  the  executor  of  the  estate  endeavors  to  appro- 
priate the  deed  to  the  land.  The  heroine  engages  in  a  long 
and  heroic  struggle  for  its  possession.  She  succeeds  in 
regaining  it,  and  the  land  itself  proves  to  be  most  valuable 
because  of  its  location  in  a  rich  oil-producing  district 


<An  Odd  Little  Lass 

'By  Jessie  E.  Wright  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

This  is  a  story  of  the  regeneration  of  a  little  street  waif.  She 
begins  life  in  a  lowly  court  of  a  large  city.  Her  adventures 
are  numerous,  and  often  quite  exciting.  After  a  time  she 
is  transplanted  to  the  country,  where  alter  many  thrilling 
experiences  she  eventually  grows  into  a  useful  and  lovable 
young  woman.  The  story  is  pleasantly  told,  and  abounds 
in  interesting  incident. 

"  The  story  is  an  intensely  interesting  one,  and  abounds  in 
pleasing  and  unique  situations." — Religious  Telescope,  Dayton, 
Ohio. 

<An  Everyday  Heroine 

9y  cMary  <A.  Venison  Illustrated  by  Ida  Waugh 

The  heroine  is  not  an  impossible  character  but  only  a  pure, 
winsome,  earnest  girl,  who  at  fourteen  years  of  age  is  sud- 
denly bereft  of  fortune  and  father  and  becomes  the  chief  sup- 
port of  a  semi-invalid  mother.  While  there  are  many  touching 
scenes,  the  story  as  a  whole  is  bright  and  cheerful  and  moves 
forward  with  a  naturalness  and  ease  that  carries  its  read- 
ers along  and  makes  them  reluctant  to  put  down  the  book 
until  the  end  is  reached 


STORIES  FOR  <BOYS 
The  <Boer  <Boy  of  the  Transvaal 

<By  Kate  ZMilner  ^abb  Illustrated  by  F.  A.  Carter 

The  career  of  the  Boer  boy  is  one  series  of  exciting  adven- 
tures. In  the  gallant  service  for  his  country  he  comes  face  to 
face  with  President  Kruger,  General  Cronje,  and  General  Jou- 
bert.  Much  interesting  information  pertaining  to  this  country 
and  its  people  is  introduced,  and  the  reader  will  understand  as 
never  before  the  cause  of  the  intense  hatred  of  the  Boers  for 
the  British. 

Uncrowning  a  King 

<By  EdwardS.  Ellis,  <A.  ffl.  Illustrated  by  J.  Steeple  <Dxvts 
A  tale  of  the  Indian  war  waged  by  King  Philip  in  1675.  The 
adventures  of  the  young  hero  during  that  eventful  period,  his 
efforts  in  behalf  of  the  attacked  towns,  his  capture  by 'the 
Indians,  and  his  subsequent  release  through  the  efforts  o/ 
King  Philip  himself,  with  a  vivid  account  of  the  tragic  death 
of  that  renowned  Indian  chieftain,  form  a  most  interesting  and 
instructive  story  of  the  early  days  of  the  colonies. 

<At  the  Siege  of  Quebec 

Vy  James  Otis  Illustrated  by  F.  cA.  Carter 

Two  boys  living  on  the  Kennebec  River  join  Benedict  Ar- 
nold's expedition  as  it  passes  their  dwelling  en  route  for  the 
Canadian  border.  They,  with  their  command,  are  taken  pris- 
oners before  Quebec.  The  description  of  the  terrible  march 
through  the  wilderness,  the  incidents  of  the  siege,  and  the  dis- 
astrous assault,  which  cost  the  gallant  General  Montgomery 
his  life,  are  in  the  highest  degree  thrilling,  while  at  the  same 
time  true  in  every  particular. 


In  the  *Days  of  Washington 

*By  William  cMurray  Graydon    Illustrated  by}.  C.  Claghom 

The  story  opens  in  Philadelphia  just  prior  to  its  evacuation  by 
the  British  in  1778.  Nathan  Stanbury,  a  bright  lad  of  seven- 
teen, joins  the  Continental  Army  which  is  then  suffering  the 
hardships  of  the  winter  at  Valley  Forge.  A  short  time  later 
the  Battle  of  Monmouth  is  fought,  and  in  this  the  young  hero 
figures  quite  prominently,  as  he  does  afterward  at  the  Massa- 
cre of  Wyoming. 

On  Wood  CoTte  Island 

•2?y  Elbridge  S.  'Brooks       Illustrated  by  Frederic}.  'Boston 

A  trio  of  bright  New  England  children  are  given  an  island 
on  which  to  spend  their  summer  vacation.  Here  they  es- 
tablish a  little  colony,  the  management  of  which  gives  them 
a  large  amount  of  amusement  and  at  times  causes  some 
seemingly  serious  difficulties.  In  the  solution  of  their  per- 
plexing problems  the  young  people  receive  much  encourage- 
ment and  counsel  from  the  poet  Longfellow,  whose  delightful 
acquaintance  they  form  in  a  very  unexpected  and  amusing 
manner. 

Under  the  ^Tamaracks 

*By  Elbridge  S.  ^Brooks  Illustrated 

An  interesting  and  healthful  story  for  boys  and  girls,  repre- 
senting a  summer's  outing  of  young  people  among  the 
Thousand  Islands.  It  is  timed  to  include  the  visit  of  General 
Grant  at  Alexandria  Bay,  and  several  interesting  conversa- 
tions between  one  of  the  boys  and  the  hero  of  the  Rebellion 
shed  pleasing  side  lights  upon  the  great  General's  character. 

"  General  Grant's  talks  with  the  heroes  will  captivate  the 
heart  of  every  boy." — Teachers'  World,  New  York. 


The   Wreck  of  the  Sea  Lion 

%y  W.  0.  Stoddard  Illustrated  by  John  H.  <Betts 

Tales  of  the  sea  are  always  fascinating  to  young  people,  espe- 
cially when  some  active,  adventuresome  boys  supply  plenty  of 
thrilling  escapades  to  add  to  the  interest.  The  story  of  an 
eventful  cruise  in  Southern  waters,  as  told  by  an  old  sea  cap- 
tain, and  the  ludicrous  boastings  and  experiments  of  a  would- 
be  scientist,  constitute  a  pleasing  variety  of  incident,  and 
afford  just  that  amount  of  instructive  material  needed  to  make 
a  perfect  book  for  young  readers. 

The   Young  Financier 

*By  W.  0.  Stoddard  Illustrated  by  John  H.  <Betts 

A  unique  story,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  the  money  centre 
of  New  York  City.  The  young  hero  begins  life  as  a  broker's 
messenger  and  passing  rapidly  from  one  post  to  another  in 
good  time  rises  to  a  position  of  importance  and  responsibility. 
Numerous  exciting  experiences  incident  to  the  eventual  suc- 
cess in  his  business  career  all  'combine  to  form  a  most 
interesting  narrative. 

True  to  His  Trust 

®y  Edward  S.  Ellis,  <A.  ZM.  Illustrated  by  J.  Steeple  <Davis 
The  hero  of  this  story  will  win  his  way  at  once  into  the  heart 
of  every  one,  and  his  pluck  and  perseverance  will  carry  the 
sympathy  of  every  reader  through  his  many  adventures,  strug- 
gles, and  singular  experiences.  Like  all  of  the  author's  works 
the  incidents  teach  in  the  most  convincing  manner  that  true 
manliness  and  sturdy  integrity  are  the  only  principles  through 
which  happiness  and  success  in  life  are  possible. 


Comrades  True 

'Sy  Edward  S.  Ellis,  <A.  ZM.  Illustrated 

In  following  the  career  of  two  friends  from  youth  to  manhood, 
the  author  weaves  a  narrative  of  intense  interest.  This 
story  is  more  realistic  than  is  usual,  as  the  two  heroes  pass 
through  the  calamitous  forest  fires  in  Northern  Minnesota  and 
barely  escape  with  their  lives.  They  have  other  thrilling  ad- 
ventures and  experiences  in  which  the  characteristics  of  each 
are  finely  portrayed. 

"  Among  juveniles  there  is  not  one  of  greater  interest,  or 
more  wholesome  influence  than  '  Comrades  True.'  " — Sentinel, 
Milwaukee,  Wis. 

c/lmong  the  Esquimaux 

<By  Edward  S.  Ellis,  <A.  €M.  Illustrated 

The  scenes  of  this  story  are  laid  in  the  Arctic  region,  the  cen- 
tral characters  being  two  sturdy  boys  whose  adventurous  spirit 
often  leads  them  into  dangerous  positions.  They  visit  Green- 
land ;  go  on  a  hunting  expedition,  have  a  number  of  stirring 
adventures,  but  ultimately  .reach  home  safe  and  sound. 

"  A  capital  and  instructive  book  for  boys." — Post,  Boston, 
Mass. 

The  Campers  Out 

*By  Edward  S.  Ellis,  <A.  §M.  Illustrated 

Many  of  the  scenes  are  so  vividly  described  that  the  reader 
can,  in  his  imagination,  enjoy  the  excitement  of  the  chase  and 
all  the  pleasures  of  a  good  camping  tour.  In  addition  to  the 
vivid  descriptions  of  many  exciting  adventures,  this  story 
teaches  a  lesson  in  morals  that  cannot  fail  to  prove  helpful  to 
every  reader. 

"  Well  planned  and  well  written.  Full  of  adventure  of  just  the 
right  sort." — Mid- Continent,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


The  Young  Gold  Seekers 

<By  Edward  S.  Ellis,  <A.  £M.      Illustrated  by  F.  <A.  Carte* 

A  thrilling  account  of  the  experiences  of  two  boys  during  a 
trip  to  the  gold  fields  of  Alaska.  The  hardships  that  they 
endure,  the  disappointments  they  suffer,  the  courage  and 
perseverance  that  they  manifest  in  the  face  of  seemingly 
insurmountable  obstacles,  and  their  eventual  success  in  their 
undertaking,  are  all  most  graphically  portraved. 

c/lndy's   Ward 

<By  fames  Otis  Illustrated 

A  fascinating  narrative  of  the  life  and  experiences  of "  Museum 
Marvels."  They  dwell  in  a  house  owned  by  a  sword-swal- 
lower,  whose  wife,  the  "  Original  Circassian,"  is  entrusted  with 
its  management.  The  rest  of  the  household  includes  a  dwarf, 
nick-named  the  "Major,"  a  fat  lady,  a  giant,  and  a  snake- 
charmer.  The  private  life  of  the  marvels  forms  a  story  full  of 
incident,  and  one  that  possesses  that  peculiar  simplicity  ol 
style  which  has  won  for  this  author  such  a  host  of  readers. 


Chasing  a   Yacht 

<By  James  Otis  Illustrated 

A  semi-nautical  tale  of  adventure  about  boys,  written  for  boys, 
and  will  certainly  be  appreciated  by  boys  wherever  they  may 
be  found.  The  story  of  how  the  heroes,  two  bright,  manly 
fellows,  built  a  steam  yacht,  how  she  was  stolen  from  them, 
and  how  they  eventually  regained  possession  of  her,  is  full  of 
life  and  is  replete  with  exciting  and  interesting  incident. 

"  Boys  who  do  not  read  this  volume  with  real  pleasure  must 
be  hard  to  suit." — Journal,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 


The  ^Braganza  'Diamond 

ames  Otis  Illustrated 


A  volume  that  will  hold  its  readers  spell-bound  as  they  follow 
the  two  boy  characters  and  the  bright,  courageous  girl  in 
their  search  for  the  famous  diamond.  Much  useful  information 
is  incidentally  conveyed  and  many  things  with  which  few 
persons  are  familiar  are  explained. 

"  It  will  rivet  the  attention  of  young  readers  as  much  as  Rob- 
inson Crusoe."  —  Call,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

The  Lost  Galleon 

"By  W.  <Bert  Foster  Illustrated  byj.  Steeple  T>a<vis 

The  search  for  a  lost  treasure  ship  and  her  eventual  discovery 
form  the  basis  of  this  very  dramatic  story.  The  plot  is  in- 
tensely interesting,  and  rivets  the  attention  throughout  the 
entire  narrative.  The  story  possesses  a  great  deal  of  origi- 
nality, and  is  free  from  the  conventional  incidents  that  usually 
characterize  stories  of  this  description.  Incidentally,  much 
valuable  information  is  afforded  the  reader  by  the  insight  that 
is  given  into  the  ship-chandlery  business,  in  which  the  young 
hero  engages  as  the  means  of  earning  a  livelihood. 

Exited  to  Siberia 

'By  William  cMurray  Graydon  Illustrated  by  F.  <A.  Carter 
This  is  one  of  the  most  thrilling  stories  ever  written.  The 
heroes,  two  American  boys,  become  involved  in  a  political 
plot  that  nearly  costs  them  their  lives.  As  nearly  all  the 
action  occurs  in  the  mines  and  military  prisons  of  frozen 
Siberia  it  can  readily  be  imagined  that  in  the  midst  of  such 
dramatic  surroundings  the  interest  is  most  intense.  The 
plot  is  absorbing,  the  adventure  exciting,  the  movement 
rapid,  and  the  style  unsurpassed. 


The  Lost  Gold 

<By  Frank  H.  Converse  Illustrated 

At  the  opening  of  this  story,  the  hero,  by  a  singular  circum- 
stance, finds  himself  in  possession  of  certain  papers  relating  to 
a  gold  mine  in  the  far  West,  and  he  and  his  chum  conclude  to 
make  a  search  for  it.  Their  untiring  efforts  are  eventually 
rrowned  with  success,  but  not  until  the  party  has  suffered 
many  privations  and  escaped  numerous  impending  dangers 
such  as  characterized  the  early  days  of  the  gold  fever. 


Cape  Cod  *Boy 

<By  Sophie  Swett  Illustrated  by  <P.  T.  Hoyt 

A  realistic  story  of  the    New  England   coast,  in   which  are 

vividly  depicted  the  manly  efforts  of  a  Portuguese  castaway 

who  attempts  to  assist  a  family  in  return  for  kindness  shown 

A  pronounced   sea  atmosphere   pervades   the   whole 

ry,  which  contains  many  thrilling  adventures  by  water  and 

Iships   on   land.      A   performing   bear,   escaped    from   a 

traveling  menagerie,  is  quite  an  interesting  figure  and  affords 

much  amusement  and  excitement. 


cMoonshiner's  Son 

Witt  Men  Vromgoole          Illustrated  by  F.  <A.  Carter 

The  scene  of  this  dramatic  story  is  laid  in  the  mountains  of 

Tennessee  amid  the  haunts  of  the  illicit  distillers      The  hero 

made  to  suffer  many  hardships  as  a  result  of  his  father's  un- 

lawful business,  but  after  the  latter's  tragic  death,  the  boy  is  af- 

1  an  opportunity  of  going  to  a  large  city,  where  his 

sterling  merit  soon  brings  him  into  prominence.     The  story  is 

ill  of  the  most  thrilling  incidents,  and  the  tone  is  wholesome 

and  elevating. 


The  cMoncasket  cMystery 

(By  Sidney  cMarlwuj  Illustrated 

Wise  indeed  is  that  teacher  or  parent  who  provides  his  child- 
ren with  such  healthful  and  entertaining  reading  as  this  book 
will  prove  to  be.  It  is  a  pleasing  story,  full  of  base-ball  and 
fishing  experiences,  with  just  sufficient  "  mystery  "  to  add  zest 
to  the  tale.  The  principal  character  is  not  called  upon 
to  perform  any  impossible  feats,  but  he  exemplifies  his  char* 
acter  in  the  pursuits  of  daily  life  and  always  proves  faithful  to 
the  confidence  reposed  in  him. 

Harry  (Ambler 

^By  Sidney  cMartow  Illustrated 

A  charming  story  of  a  bright  boy,  that  is  full  of  exciting 
incidents  and  is  told  in  a  pleasing  style.  It  is  interesting 
without  being  sensational,  and  incidentally  shows  that  courage 
and  honesty  are  the  sure  roads  to  success.  The  characteristics 
displayed  by  the  hero  can  be  emulated  with  profit  by  boys 
generally.  The  book  points  out  a  moral  without  making  that 
the  *  reason  of  being  "  of  the  story. 

^Making  His  cMark 

'By  Horatio  cAlger,  Jr.  Illustrated  by  Robert  L.  cMason 
A  manly,  resourceful  lad,  left  to  the  care  of  an  unscrupulous 
stepmother,  finds  his  home  unbearable,  and  starts  out  in  the 
world,  determined  to  make  a  place  for  himself.  Naturally,  he 
encounters  many  obstacles  and  meets  with  numerous  dis- 
couragements, but  his  courage  and  perseverance  enable  him 
to  push  steadily  on  until  he  attains  a  glorious  success.  The 
book  will  prove  not  only  intensely  interesting  but  also  helpful 
to  every  boy  who  reads  it. 


.'*&.• 


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